Child of Anarchy: The Hunt for Lineage, Identity and -- Motorcycles?
by TheCatalystx
Summary: Liz Martin lived her whole life under the impression that she would never know her father. She lived relatively contentedly, but she couldn't help but feel that something was missing. When she finally discovers who her father is, she thinks maybe meeting him could help her find that missing piece. Join Liz on her accidental discovery of life, family, and even love.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello everyone! And welcome to my new SOA fanfic. I simply adore this show and its characters. It's so deep and unique, I couldn't resist adding an OC. My only request is that if you read it, you review. I request that because I'm trying a _lot_ of new things with this fic. It's from the first-person POV, my OC is fiery and aggressive, and I'm going to struggle with keeping everyone in character. So I am going to need feedback! If something bothers you, pleases you, amuses you - tell me _please_! **

**Without further ado, I invite you to sit back and enjoy!**

* * *

I am a firm believer in destiny.

I believe that everything, from even before the moment of birth, is all happening to you for a reason. It's all working towards some common goal that was determined before you were even a thought; before your parents even had the chance to take a fleeting roll in the hay. Or, in my case, to become the unfortunate result of a broken relationship.

I grew up knowing that I would never know my father. I would never have daddy-daughter moments, or even come close to knowing what it feels like to have an overprotective father glaring over your shoulder at your boyfriend. I didn't know that I would be missing on a lot of awkward stuff, too. All the uncomfortable subjects that daughters and fathers are _never _supposed to breach – all of the times that his over protectiveness would prove to be stifling and annoying. The real stuff. The stuff that made him your dad.

I haven't always believed in destiny. In fact, for most of my life I believed that fate held a plan for me almost as much as I believed that my father cared I existed. I won't lie, it hurt to know that every day I thought of him, and every day he went on blissfully ignorant of who I am. If he even knew I existed.

The problem was always that I didn't know _who_ he was. My life's single greatest mystery was the identity of my father. I toyed around with a great number of different possibilities. Maybe my mom met a royal prince, and they fell in love and had to carry on their relationship in secrecy – thus, when I was born, _I _had to be kept a secret. Or maybe my father died and it was too painful a memory for my mother. Or maybe he was some convicted criminal, locked away from the light of day and everyone he ever knew and loved… That last possibility occurred to me at the same time my punk phase hit. Little did I know how eerily close I was.

Overall, there were a few solitary facts that I knew for sure.

One, my father was a douche bag. Like, a seriously manipulative asshole, which explains a lot about my own personality.

Two, my mother and father were – for some length of time – madly in love.

Three, I had his eyes.

That much I knew from what my mother had told me about him. Over the years, I would collect little facts about him like precious gems. I learned early on to neither acknowledge when my mother began to speak openly of him, nor to encourage it. The key is to act casual and not make any sudden movements, lest I bring her back around to reality. She would, although these times were few and far between, occasionally go on mini-rambles about him.

Eventually I knew enough to piece together that he had cheated on her and they had gotten into a huge fight just before my mother found out she was pregnant with me. I knew that on the day she decided to tell him, he decided to move on from her before she could. Or maybe after. I was never clear on that part. I knew that when I get truly good and pissed off, I allegedly look exactly like him.

Mostly, I know that she still loves him very much. In spite of everything, my mother has never truly moved on from this mystery man that contributed to my very existence – and perhaps my existence alone is enough to keep the fire burning for her. It would certainly explain a lot. I am nothing but a constant reminder of him to her.

But as I grew out of adolescence, my insatiable curiosity was inevitably shelved. Real life issues took over – college debt, life careers, the stock market – normal, mundane, every day issues. Daddy's ID faded into background noise. It was no longer important to me. If he doesn't wanna make the effort to know me – if he didn't care enough about my mother to realize what he had, or that she had carried his child… well, then he wasn't worth the effort, either, was he? I had resolved to move on from my father; to get on with my life. I already had a stellar parental figure. I had my life role model, my rock, my spirit guide, my best friend and fairy godmother – and she just so happened to be my _real_ mother, too.

Then, she died.

* * *

"I _need_ to know, Martha," I begged, leaning over the counter to get in my mother's best friend's face. She leaned back and stubbornly shook her head.

"I'm not going through this with you again. Nothin' good could come of it. Ain't nothin' you need from him, not now, not never." A brilliant stream of blue fluid sprayed the counter from the bottle of cleaner in her hand, forcing me to back off. She ignored the unappreciative glower I sent her way.

I latched onto her skinny, chicken bone wrist, capturing it in a tight grip and holding firm when she tried to get away. My eyes held her taciturn expression steady, and I matched her bitterness tenfold. "You're an awful liar, Martha. That's something you and my mother have in common…" I paused. "_Had _in common." Martha's bitterness receded, and something like remorse replaced it. This time when she pulled away, I let her. "Something I somehow skipped learning from you two over the years. Your grammar goes to shit when you're lying, and you just sounded like someone from the set of Justified."

She kept her nose slightly in the air, haughty as she scooted the damp rag across the counter a little bit more. She didn't look at me as she responded. "She made me swear, Liz. She made me swear to never tell you."

"So? She's _gone_ now, Martha. She doesn't get a say in this anymore. What she doesn't know won't hurt her."

Martha leveled a disapproving look my way that I ignored. Studying me for a moment, she turned to fully address me, as though sensing that I was missing what she felt was a very important and moral concept. "It's _wrong_. A promise is a promise. Not even death can erase that simple fact."

Lars cleared his throat from his stool nearby. His tall glass of frothy beer was nearly empty, and he swirled it around for a moment. He watched from the corner of his eye as he said, "Sounds more like a secret than a promise, if you ask me."

Martha looked ready to whack him over the head with her spray bottle. She raised her eyebrows at the older man and leaned in to be sure he captured the sincerity of her response. "If we have use for your opinion, we'll be sure to let you know."

Irritation flared inside me. "God damn it!" I snapped, recapturing her attention. She and Lars seemed surprised at my outburst. "This isn't even about her! This is about me! About what I want!" A little bit of desperation seeped into my voice, and I frowned at Martha. "Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"Knowing your father ain't gonna do nothin' to help you, darlin'. It won't bring her back." She paused, considering something. "Won't bring _him_ back, neither."

"You can't know that," I waved off, and she bristled.

"I do know that! Child, don't be a fool!" She shook her head bitterly. "Listen to me, now, and listen good. That father of yours is bad news, honey. He's gonna bring you nothin' but heartache and you've had enough of that to last you a lifetime."

I grunted at her, beginning to doubt myself for the first time. And that doubt only made me more angry, as if her words lit a fire under my ass. Martha gave me that trademark righteous expression. "Most of that ache came from him," She clarified, and my eyes narrowed at her. Unfazed, she set the spray bottle down and shrugged. "I'm just sayin'!"

"Maybe you should listen to her," Lars suggested. "What's the problem? The family you got right here ain't enough for you anymore? You think you need to go hunt down more?" He paused, at at my intense glower, he seemed to realize something. He leaned back and a knowing grin slowly stretched his thick lips. "Heh. Maybe you'll find some new exciting life with daddy? You lost your momma, so it's time to replace her? Is that it?" The dinner knife in his hand did nothing to curb the thuggish impression he gave, and if I hadn't known the man for the better part of my life I might not have had the courage to give as good as I got.

"And I guess you'd have me duck my head and do as I'm told?" I asked, venom seeping into my tone.

Lars face remained unchanged, keeping that smug, overconfident expression as he looked me straight in the eye. "You're getting in over your head, girl."

My fist clenched. I wanted to lash out. The breath I drew came tight and if it wasn't for Martha placing a comforting hand on my shoulder I might have done something rash. Lars met my hostility unabashed, and Martha offered her pragmatic advice to stave the brewing fight. "This isn't what she would want."

I shot her a dirty look. "Really?" I asked, offended. "You don't get to play a guilt card on me here, Marth. This isn't _about_ what she wanted. Not anymore."

"So that's it?" Lars spoke up. "Your mom's dead and you're ready to tear down everything she's built for you?" I stopped at the unexpected accusation. It wasn't like that, and they knew it. "What? You are! You practically got the hammer in your hands, ready to swing!"

"I don't have to explain myself to you," I seethed, pointing a finger at him in warning, and Martha stepped between us again.

"There's more to this than you know, child."

The urge to throw my hands in the air and scream in frustration was almost too much. I pressed my fist into the counter to gather patience before I said, "We're talking in circles now. I don't have time for this. And you know what? I don't need you to find him. Either of you."

Lars snorted and shook his head and Martha looked desperate. She reached out to try and stop me from leaving. I shrugged her hand off and continued to the door, my steps heavy and my gait tense. Lars scoffed again as I passed him, apparently unimpressed with my decisions. Martha watched me with troubled eyes as I pushed into the sunshine of Nevada.

* * *

"Ashes to ashes," said the graying priest, with a grand sweep of his arm. "Dust to dust."

His words were unmoving to me. I was never very religious, and his speech felt cheap and cliched, like something torn straight out of a movie script. I stared at my mother's sleek wooden casket. It was a glossy mahogany color. Dark, and strong. Like she was.

There were two kinds of people. The kind who would look at the sun shining through the barren trees above us and think to themselves: _There's proof, shining down on me today. There is all the proof I need to know that she's in a better place._

And then there are those who shift uncomfortably on the packed desert dirt and stifle the urge to wipe their handkerchief between their boobs to sop up the sweat. These people look up at the overbearing sun and think: _You think you're pretty funny, don't ya? Yeah, I bet you started the day today and thought – this'll **really** fuck with her. Let me conjure up a nice, sizzling heatwave that will sweep Nevada more arid than Liz's dryspell. It'll set records and mock her mourning process, seeing as she hasn't shed a single tear since she kissed her mother goodbye._

I find myself leaning closer to the latter kind of people.

The crowd that gathered around my mother's casket was meager, humble, and familiar. I met Martha's worried gaze head on, hoping that maybe today would be the day that my laser-vision pulled through and I would incinerate her on the spot. Unless the sun beat me to it. I flapped the black lacy fan in my hand, never taking my eyes from her. She cleared her throat and tore her red-rimmed eyes away from me, and I scoffed quietly to myself. The old woman next to me scowled at my disrespect. I raised my eyebrow, resisting the urge to mock-lunge at her.

Her name was Gertrude, and she lived in the apartment next to us. I'm pretty sure she has like, fifteen cats, and I know for a fact we aren't supposed to have _any _pets because of the time I brought home a lizard I found on the playground, and my mom had a conniption. She threw it out the window when Jerold, the apartment manager, stopped by to check out our piece-of-crap air conditioning. I'm pretty sure the creep was just looking to try and get in bed with her though, since we never called him to tell him our air conditioning took a dump in the first place. Funny, but Jerold was nowhere to be seen now, when it actually mattered.

Lars stood shoulder to shoulder with Martha. He was the most dressed up I'd ever seen him, wearing an actual button down shirt and black pants, and his bald head was free from a bandana for once. He dutifully ignored me and I sighed and turned away from him and his fleet of brutes behind him, most of whom I had no use for.

I wasn't sure what exactly Lars was involved in, beyond the fact that he worked closely with a man who owned a rather impressive set of land on the outskirts of town and even the law enforcement called a dozen times to warn of their visits, should they ever _need_ to visit, which was fairly rare. They seemed to hold each other at arm's length.

In the past, if I ever asked what it was Lars did for a living, the most I got was _he works for Lee. _Doing what, you might ask? _Odds and ends. _Much like the scarce details I'd collected about my father, I knew a short list of details about what those "odds and ends" might consist of. Or, at least what they might work towards.

I knew Lee was the boss. I knew his family owned the largest estate in this county, as they had for generations. I know he owns a successful hotel that's been here almost as long as his family has been around. And the clincher? He also owned a cement company, and a salon... and the restaurant that Martha runs. If those shady details don't reek of laundering, I don't know what does.

Ten years, we've known Lars. And we're no closer to knowing the details of his line of work than we were when we met him. Everyone seemed content to keep it that way. It felt like one of those need to know situations. Honestly? That's one mystery I'm fine with leaving alone.

"Elizabeth Martin was a woman who everyone knew." The priest continued, and a blank, numb feeling settled into my bones. Breathing became something of a chore with the air as hot as it was, and the threat of tears gripping my throat was almost enough to suffocate me.

"She knew what she needed, she knew what she wanted, and she knew not to compromise those things. She never settled for less than the best for her daughter. The love she felt for Liz was evident in the way she spoke of her."

I looked up at Martha, who stared back at me with tears streaming freely down her face. She sadly shook her head.

"Elizabeth leaves a legacy of friendship, motherhood, and fond memories behind. As she passes into Heaven, let us not grieve for her loss, but rejoice in knowing that her pain has ended, and she is finally at rest, and at Home."

He went on, but I suddenly found it a chore to continue listening. So I tuned him out until he finished, and when it was all over, I approached her casket and touched it with a shaking hand. Someone gently touched my shoulder.

I turned to see Martha standing there. She had a small black clutch which she gripped with white knuckles. She cleared her throat. "I'm - so sorry, Liz." I shook my head, but she held her hand up to silence me. "Lars talked to me after you left. He... he made me see things from your perspective." I frowned, unsure of what Lars had to offer that would give Martha any insight into how I felt about finding my father. But Martha didn't elaborate on that. "The truth is, I feel... well, I guess you could say I feel somewhat responsible for you now that your momma isn't here to keep track of you. And I know you're a grown woman, but it's difficult for me to not see you as the little girl who used to sneak lemon bars in my restaurant when she thought I wasn't watching."

I breathed out a mournful, choked laugh, and Martha grinned back, just as upset.

Her face twisted into pain as she finished her point. "That's why it's so – _difficult _– for me to have to see you go through this. I…" She looked down, a tear falling from her face. "I do know the name of your father." My heart stopped. I felt as my face went blank and, in slow motion, time stopped. But I didn't dare to hope. Martha ignored me as she pressed on. "I also know that he hurt your momma real bad. He wrecked that woman, and ruined her for any other man. That scares me. And I wish you'd stay away from him. But I also know that it isn't fair to you for me to make that choice for you." She reached up to touch my face. I gripped her hand, knowing it would be inappropriate for me to grab her and shake her to just _tell_ me already. "I do love you, baby girl. So much."

I squeezed my eyes shut, my teeth grinding together. "And I love you, too, Martha. You're the closest thing I've ever had to an Aunt. You're my family. You know that."

"I do." Her voice shook and she pulled her hand away to wipe her tears from her cheeks. Drawing a deep breath, she fixed her dark brown eyes to me, and changed my life forever with a single name. "Clay Morrow."


	2. Chapter 2

**(A/N): Warning: Profane language ahead. Proceed at your own damn risk. :-)**

* * *

I blinked at her. All this time, all this mystery – my whole life, the biggest, most daunting, unanswered question – it meant even more to me than the timeless question of what comes after death … After all the times that I found myself missing my father in spite of never knowing him. Mostly, when I watched movies, and saw scenes of fathers at baseball games, lifting their child into the air so they could try to catch the rogue baseballs, or taking them for ice cream, or... walking them down the aisle at their wedding.

And other times, like when I took my driving test and went back to the license branch and I saw a girl the same age as me run into her father's arms and watched as he spun her around in celebration. If I went anywhere, at any random point in my life, I would see things like that – things that looked so easy, so natural for them – and it would make that hole in my chest leak a little bit more of something vital. Something that slowly drained a part of me until it felt dead inside.

And I had just gotten my answer. I stared at her, open mouthed, and realized she had been talking through my shock. "… I know he lives in Charming, California. As far as locating him, that's all I have for you. I wish I knew more."

"When was this?" I wanted to know, desperate to find out all that I could now that it was actually happening. "Where was I when she told you?"

Martha thought about it, her lips still quivering with grief as she answered. "Oh, honey, you were still very young." She paused to laugh and shake a finger at the memory. "Actually, it's funny you ask. I think you were racing your bike with some neighborhood kids. You guys wanted to start a club. Your mom was tickled pink."

It wasn't clear what she thought was funny about that, but I moved past it in favor of asking more relevant questions. "But that had to have been over ten years ago! He could be anywhere by now."

Martha was almost amused, if she didn't look so weary. "Oh, trust me on this one, child. He's still in Charming."

"Charming?" I frowned as I processed this information. "That's where mom grew up."

"I know." Martha's voice turned cautious, gentle, and it seemed that she chose her words very carefully. "She, uh… they... grew up together, from what I've gathered. They've got a lot of history between them." She moved closer to me, causing me to focus more intently on what she was saying. "They've got a lot of burned bridges, too. That's why you don't need to do this, darlin'. Stay out of it. Stay away."

"You don't know what I'm thinking." My hackles rose and I backed away from her. The sun bore down on me as I stepped away from the splotchy shade of the trees and away from my mother's grave. I gave her casket a fleeting glance as Martha hurried to follow me down the hill. She struggled to keep up, since she had about thirty years on me.

"I'm not stupid, Liz! I know the way you work. I know _why_ you're asking. I didn't tell you this so that you could trot down to Charming and plant your little ass down in that shit storm!"

I stopped in my tracks and whirled around to face her. She came up short, stumbling a bit as she did so, and I let my voice drop low. "For someone that wasn't told much, you sure seem to know a lot about how shitty life in Charming is right now." A mask fell over her face and she straightened up, looking me defiantly in the eye. "Listen to me, because I'm only saying it once. I just buried my mother. The last thing I'm gonna do is skip town. I have responsibilities that need taken care of here. I need to pack her stuff away, find somewhere to keep it. I need to put her apartment on the market. I need to meet with her lawyer to discuss a few final things. Apparently, death deals its weight in paper. Papers that need reading, shit that needs signed. And all of it needs done by _me_." I stepped closer to her and ignored the pained expression that besmirched her aging face. "So stop acting like I'm about to take off and leave all of this debris behind me, okay? My whole world just exploded. I think it's gonna take a little bit of time before I'm ready to waltz into another_ shit storm_."

The weight of my words seemed to hit her full force. Her entire body slumped and she looked away in shame. "I'm sorry, honey. I'm so sorry." She paused and brushed a hand over herself. "Why don't you come back to the restaurant? I'm serving a nice hot meal for those who attended the service today. Some real food would do ya wonders." She paused, and a smirk tugged at her slightly wrinkled mouth. "Got some lemon bars with your name on them."

I smiled and patted her shoulder. "I appreciate it, Martha, but why don't you just cover a plate for me, okay? I've got some shit that needs attention."

Worry flickered in her eyes, but she held her tongue and she forced a smile and a nod. As I turned to walk away, I wondered just what the hell kinda name_ Clay Morrow_ was.

* * *

I sat back and rubbed my eyes, scrubbing hard at them until I saw that beautiful black starry galaxy behind my lids. That's the luxury that shedding makeup affords you – free reign to rub the shit out of your eyes.

My mind turned back to the surprise I felt when I saw Lars was leaving the attorney's office just as I was arriving. Call it coincidence if you want, but I think the timing is just a little too suspect to be unrelated with my mother's death. When I asked him what he was doing here, all he had to say was, _business. _And he hardly looked my way as he gathered two men, both looking clean cut, and ushered them away from the front desk. They'd been trying - and failing, as far as I could tell - to flirt with the receptionists. They barely spared me a glance as they left, with Lars at the front of the pack.

I shook my head to myself and when I told the front desk why I was there, I ended up having to wait for twenty minutes before the estate attorney was ready to see me. When I asked about Lars, she was ready and eager to invoke client-attorney privilege and moved on to the estate as though nothing had ever happened. We've been in her office ever since, and my eyes were straining from all the reading.

The papers that scattered across the table before me looked like a pile of ash; deep, sad and messy. "If I never have to look at another certificate, contract, notification, bill, or tax form ever again, I will die a happy woman."

Glenda, the estate attorney my mother hired, laughed and shook her head. "You're through the worst of it; the rest is all formalities."

I snorted. "I thought those _were_ the formalities!"

"You can leave the rest to me, actually. I just have a few things for you to sign, and we're finished here. Your mother is all taken care of." She clicked a pen and slid a bundle of documents across the table to me. I swallowed roughly and moved through the pain. As I glided the pen across all the allotted lines, I couldn't help but feel I was putting the final nail in my mother's coffin. I hardly even scanned what I was agreeing to, which I knew was reckless and irresponsible, but at that point I didn't care. At least, not until something caught my eye.

"Wait, what's this?" I pointed the tip of the pen to a paragraph within one of the documents. "She has a storage unit?"

"Let me see," the attorney said. She took the paper and her eyes skimmed over it. The grandfather clock nearby clicked and the smell of tea permeated the air. I breathed in slowly as she declared, "Yes, it appears your mother has a storage unit reserved in … Charming, California?" She looked at me in question, assuming that I would know more to the story than I actually did. At my blank stare, the attorney shrugged. "She's leaving it to you." I blinked at her. She looked up and noticed my stunned expression. "She's had it for… over two decades, Liz. Since a year after you were born, to be exact... Are you saying you didn't know she had it?"

"Uh," I shook my head and cleared my throat. "She never … it didn't come up, I guess. Is there… like, I don't know… a key? Or something? How do I open it?"

"Oh, she may have had a copy made. There is, however, another option, if you're unable to recover a key. You could go through any documents she has stored away. You might find some sort of proof of ownership. That would probably be enough to get the storage facility to let you use their copy. Try explaining the situation. I doubt you're the first relative of a tenant who died." She paused. "I know this is all a lot to take in, but... that storage unit was obviously rented. That means the payments won't stop just because she's dead. Liz, you might consider going to clean the unit out and ending the rental, unless you're willing to continue payments."

I hummed to myself and nodded at her. "Thank you. I'll... I'll figure it out." She nodded and we continued to sift through the stack of documents, but my mind was stuck on that storage unit.

* * *

Two hours later, I shut the ignition of my trustee – albeit crappy – car off. I sat back and took a deep breath, looking up at the familiar stairs that led to my mother's house. There was a crack along one of the steps, I knew, that would always trip you up if you didn't know to avoid it. And along the wall near the front door was still a smear of blue finger paint that I left behind years ago as a child that just wouldn't come off with soap and water. For some reason we never bothered to paint over it.

The dining room was unused, but held fine china. My mother liked to keep the real sugar buried behind her mountains of sweet and low. Taped under the back of the toilet in her private bathroom, there was a baggie of weed. Not a very good hiding spot, I know. I think her thought process was that it would be easier to dispose of in a rush; if she ever needed to, all she had to do was grab it and flush it. That, or she just liked to take the obvious routes sometimes. Packs of cigarettes would litter the coffee table; my mother's lifelong habit she could never seem to kick.

All of these things made up her apartment. They made my mother who she was, and I'm going to have to go through it all. I took a steady breath and popped the door of my car open, climbing out into the scorching desert air.

I realized after I got out that there was a car parked on the street close by. Lars was leaning against it, apparently waiting for me. I felt my back stiffen instantly at his presence. He seemed calm... for now. As he approached, he looked at my mother's house and sighed when he came to a stop in front of me. He flicked a cigarette down to the street, and it rolled away, still smoking. His voice drew my gaze from the hazardously discarded cigarette butt. "Your mother borrowed something of mine a couple of months ago. I need it back."

I scowled at him. "You're rude, you know that?"

He raised a single eyebrow at me. "I'm sorry," He said, insincerely. "Did you want to talk about the weather? Discuss the funeral? If I said I was sorry for your loss, would that have helped?"

"You know what? Fuck you, Lars. You can take whatever she borrowed and shove it up your ass."

I didn't even make it a full step before he'd grabbed onto my arm and pulled me back, perhaps with more force than was reasonable required. He didn't let up, even when I lifted my gaze from his hand up to his eyes, and his jaw was tight. "Did it seem like I was asking for permission? Because I wasn't. The only reason I haven't already broken inside is because I respected your mother, but that courtesy doesn't extend to you."

I wrenched my arm out of his grasp and put some distance between us, spitting at his feet. "Go to hell," I growled. I knew I was pushing it, but at that point I was way past caring.

Lars' eyes flashed and just as quickly as the rage overcame him, it disappeared. He smiled humorlessly and it was all I could do to stand my ground. "I'm not sure why you think you can just say whatever you want to me without consequence, but I'm a reasonable man. This is your last warning. Clean up the attitude. Before I start to take you seriously."

For a long moment, neither of us spoke. I just glowered at him and thought of what to do next. Finally, I said, "What do you want, Lars?"

He jerked his chin in the direction of my mom's house. "If I know Liz, it's in her nightstand."

I stared at him for another moment. "Fine," I spat, and turned to stomp up the steps.

Once inside, I tried not to dwell on the smell that hit me full force. Some mixture of scents that was impossible for me to pick apart and identify because all they added up to for me was _home_. I made a beeline for her bedroom. Already, the apartment had been cleaned a couple weeks ago, by yours truly. I wanted to spruce the place up for her, so that when she left the hospital… But she never got that far. Still, it made my job easier now.

Lars didn't speak to me as he pushed around me to go to her bedroom. I trailed after him at a much slower pace, and when I reached her bedroom I lingered in the doorway and watched as the tall ogre of a man went straight to her nightstand and opened it up without reservation. He rummaged around for a moment before he came away with a small, silver hand gun. I don't know what I was expecting, but I can't say I was surprised. And asking why the hell my mom would feel the need to keep a gun with her while she slept would be a waste of time with this man, I already knew.

He put the weapon in his waistband and I noticed for the first time that he was already carrying a gun. How I had missed it all this time, I can't say. With changed perspective, I kept distance from the hulking man as he crossed the bedroom and came to loom over me in the doorway. I stepped easily to the side and he kept his gaze trained on me while he passed by. "I don't suppose I need to point out that you should keep this little encounter to yourself."

"Don't you worry, Lars." I crossed my arms. "I won't tell anyone you gave a gun to a terminally ill woman."

He sighed. "Maybe one day, you'll grow up and thank me." His eyes slid back to mine. "But I won't hold my breath. Good luck, girl. You're going to need it where you're going."

"Thanks a lot," I mumbled to his retreating back. It wasn't until I actually heard the door close that I moved.

As I entered her bedroom, my eyes fell over the cream colored quilt draped across her bed. All I wanted to do was curl up on it and never get back up. But I had a key to find. I went straight to the closet, opened it, and momentarily froze. I swallowed roughly and tore my eyes away from her clothes. The smell of her was impossible to ignore, so I held my breath and stepped onto a stack of shoe boxes so I could reach the top shelf.

My hand blindly patted the shelf, grabbing various boxes. Another shoe box, a sewing box, a large nail polish box, and a dusty old file box. I slid the file box under my arm and tossed the rest onto the bed, one at a time. Carrying the mysterious brown file box under my arm, I moved over to her desk and slid her stack of books to the back corner.

After an quick inspection that yielded no label, I shrugged and popped the box open. Dust flew up, forcing me to turn away and sneeze. I flapped my hand in vain to try to clear the air. Right away, there was a stack of papers, an obviously ancient packet of pictures, and a short bottle of whiskey all crammed into the box. It nearly over flowed. I picked up the mostly empty bottle of whiskey and smirked, cracking the lid off. As I took a swig, I winced at the burn and extracted the old crinkly package of pictures. I sighed and slid into her desk chair to study them.

There were several of the two of us. I flipped through photos of myself in Halloween costumes and Easter dresses, on Santa's lap and sat at the dining room table blowing out the candles for my tenth birthday. I was moving so fast, I almost missed it. The picture of a vacation we took that I couldn't remember.

It's not surprising that I struggled to remember the vacation, since I appeared to be maybe a year old at the most. I wore mauve shorts and a striped shirt with sandals, and my mother was so young that I hardly recognized her. My hair was still corn silk blonde. Over the years it gradually grew darker, until it finally settled at the same deep russet brown that mirrored my mother's, but when I was young it was so blindingly blonde that it earned me nicknames like Luna Lovegood and Legolas.

We were posed near what appeared to be the ring of a tree stump that had been used as a sign. Altogether, the sign was much taller than I stood at that age, and reached my mother's torso. In large white print, the sign read: _Welcome to Charming_, and below that it continued on to say _Our name says it all_. My heart jumped into my throat.

This is the first evidence I've ever seen of me or my mother ever even stepping foot into her hometown. I've heard hints of horror stories connected to a town she claimed was everything _but_ Charming, though she never got too specific about what exactly haunted the town, and still, she never mentioned us visiting it even once. I ran a hand through my hair, slumped down in the chair, and sighed deeply. It seems that the more I think about it, the more I realize exactly how evasive my mother had been when it came to anything involving Charming, California. Including my own father. Finding the truth is proving harder to do than I had ever imagined.

But at the same time, I'm closer to it than I've ever been before in my life. I have his _name_ – which is something so momentous, I'm still trembling with adrenaline. _Clay Morrow_. I know his name!

I ran my fingers over the picture and pondered it. Undeniably, I wanted to follow this trail. All I needed was a key. But something was holding me back… everyone I ever loved has done everything in their power to keep me shielded from this town. So why am I fighting this hard to get in? And what if I don't like what I find?

But then I look back down at the white letters that spelled out Charming, and stared at it so long that they morphed into the name Clay Morrow… and I knew that I couldn't leave this lie. Before I even knew what was happening, I plunged my hand back into the box and eagerly dug through. I extracted all the stacks of papers and flipped through them briefly. Mostly, it contained tax documents, birth certificates, passports, that type of thing. I could find nothing that indicated she had rented a storage unit for the better part of 26 years. Which is just _ridiculous. _Growling quietly to myself, I peered into the empty box and then turned back to the papers to paw through them again.

Nothing.

I threw the papers and they scattered across the floor. I shook my head and pushed away from the desk. Anger boiled inside me as I looked down at the picture she kept hidden from me for my entire life. How could she _lie _to me for so long?! How could she _leave _me here to follow her shitty, sparse, sad little trail of shit crumbs!? How could she _do this to me_?

My anger culminated into a white hot rage, and I kicked her desk chair over. It wasn't enough. I tipped the bottle of Jack back, swallowing it so fast that it spilled out and ran down my chin, and when it finally ran dry, I threw it as hard as I could against the wall with a cry as it shattered. Tears streamed down my face, but I didn't stop there.

In an even more desperate fit of rage, I turned around and swiped the stacks of pictures into the floor, accidentally catching the phone in the process. It went tumbling down with the pictures and cracked against the wood. I got even more angry at that and screamed out, turning around to kick the bed as hard as I could. My ankle screamed in pain. Sobs racked my whole body as I ripped apart her nightstand and turned over the drawers, emptying their contents into the floor.

I kicked aside all the books and pictures and whatever else happened to fall out. Still, no key. I sank to the bed and clutched the cream quilt to my chest. I pressed my face into the fabric and forced myself to breath in the smell of cigarettes and Pantene shampoo. It shredded my heart to pieces and caused a barrage of memories to attack my mind, and then – slowly – like something that bubbled and surfaced through a pool of mud... the image of her face. Startlingly clear. Painfully lifelike, it tortured me, and I had never cried so hard in my life. I thought it would never stop. I knew I was alone in the house, but some part of me expected her to walk in any moment and find me there, in this miserable state. The cackle of her infectious laughter echoed in my ears and I clamped the heels of my hands against them to shut it out.

I don't know how long I sat there, finally letting the flood of rage and pain overtake any coherent thought, but it felt like decades later before I sat up and wiped my sore, wet eyes. I looked around and something winked in the light of the setting sun.

There, lost in the sea of covers, was a lighter. Of course. That was not so surprising. The frightening urge to light the apartment on fire struck me, and I turned away with a shameful gasp. I clamped my hands together and shook my head to try and clear it. My knees cracked as I untangled myself from the covers and stood from the bed, plucking the lighter from the mess I'd made.

I made my way to the bathroom and gripped the sink. Not even thinking twice, I did what I promised her I would never do. I knelt by the toilet and reached behind it. The tape made a loud ripping noise as I extracted her personal stash of weed from its porcelain skull. I unraveled the masking tape from the clear bag, and something clattered across the tiled floor. A brass key glinted under the dull lights in the bathroom.

I knelt down and retrieved it from the cool tiles with shaking fingers. The only source of identification on the key was an etching that read _Unit 294_. An aged paper tag hung off the key's chain, and on the black line was my mother's name written in sharpie. It was still clearly legible in spite of never having been laminated. That made me wonder how often it was handled over the years, since thanks to the attorney, I knew she had to have had the thing for just shy of three decades.

I squeezed the troublesome object between my fingers and rubbed my eye with my free hand, running my hand over my face and taking a deep breath. I leaned against the counter, put the key down, and opened the baggie to breathe in the heady, sweet scent of marijuana. I knew my mother had to have rolling paper somewhere.

After another ten minutes of searching, I found them in the mess from her bedside table, and rolled myself a fat joint. As I smoked, I felt myself loosening up. My mind slowed and fogged and my nerves evened out, and all at once I was restless and relaxed. The grief I still felt was messing with my high. Normally, I would already be giggling at nothing in particular. But not now. Not today.

I took a breath and stubbed the joint out, rolled two more, and turned to stride out the front door.

I locked the apartment behind me and climbed back into my car. Without my bags packed, without a damn thing in my car besides myself and the key to her old storage unit, I threw my car in reverse and peeled out of the driveway. The nose of my car faced the direction of Charming. Wind tore wickedly at my hair, my eyes stung from tears and my nose felt tender and swollen with grief, and the music blasted from my stereo. After everything I had sworn, after all the shit I said to Martha about not taking off the minute I get the chance... here I am. But I was never good at telling the truth. And nothing could stop me now.

* * *

I drove for about five hours into the night before I finally decided it was time to stop. It was close to three in the morning when I pulled up to a gas station and filled up. The cashier, with the eyes and nose of a rat and the body of a junkie, pointed me in the direction of a cheap motel known as The Rusty Beaver. I tried not to dwell on the many different interpretations of the motel's namesake as I got myself a rent-by-the-hour room.

I had covered the better part of Nevada (mostly due to my tendency to view the speed limit as a suggestion), and I figured that by about midmorning tomorrow I should be rolling into Charming, California. Already, the climate was changing. The cool night air had thickened into a noticeably humid atmosphere, but still, it was cooler than my hometown that was once the setting for an old western movie.

I cursed myself for not stopping at my own place before tearing out of Nevada. I didn't even pause to tell Martha where I was going. Hell, no one even knew I left. Except maybe Lars, who seemed to know too much for his own good.

Oh well. Too late now. I furiously rubbed my eyes as I thought of how peeved Harry, my boss, was gonna be when I didn't show up for work tomorrow. But some things are more important than a job that paid for shit and a boss with an even shittier attitude.

The truth was, I was anxious to get to Charming. First on my list of priorities was that storage unit. Beyond that, if I didn't find anything that suggested I should _really_ stay away from Clay Morrow, perhaps I would consider tracking him down, too. I stood outside my room of the motel now, leaning against the railing with a smoking joint in my fingers and the breeze on my face. The horizon was dark and somewhat bleak. I'd stopped just off the highway and I could still see some traffic passing.

I was maybe two counties or so outside of Charming. I don't even think this is a proper town I stopped in. There was a gas station and a motel, but that was it. The rest was all the dry landscape of northern California. My mind was on my mother. On the gun she kept, on her relationship with Lars that apparently had more history than I ever knew. I wondered how close they'd been. I wondered what they'd been through that made a man like him respect her. I wondered about Lars in general, honestly.

And I hurt. I was thinking of my mom when, far off on the horizon, there was a muffled crack of thunder and a disturbance that caught my eye. A large plume of smoke was rising up through the night sky, with a bright source of orange fire to illuminate it. An explosion, I realized, not thunder like I assumed. A huge one too, one that was far off since it could have been no larger than my thumb but still visible.

_Someone's about to have a really bad night_, I thought. I stubbed my joint out and went back to my room, just as a couple of doors opened and people came from their rooms to see what the noise had been. I shut my door to them as they spotted the smoke in the distance. I tried to turn on the crappy little television to reach a news station, but all I got was static. After trying a couple of channels I gave up and shut the thing off, and curled up on the smelly, musty bed.

The next morning, I took a quick, unsatisfying shower and did my best to ignore the grunge and rusted amenities that coated this sad motel room. I finished as fast as I could, then fished some change from my pocket and went to grab a sticky bun from the vending machines. As I stood up and turned to face my car, I spotted a pay phone. I crinkled the plastic wrap in my hands and sank slightly to the ground in guilt, growling to myself as I marched over and shoved the quarters into the payphone. I punched in Martha's number and cleared my throat as it rang.

"Good morning, you've reached Martha's Diner. This is Drew speaking, how can I help you?" She said, and a clatter of metal could be heard on the other end of the phone.

I pressed my lips together. "Hey, Drew. It's Liz. Is Martie around?"

"Just a second," He responded, and the line went quiet.

"Liz?" Matha's voice was slightly higher pitched than normal, and I quietly responded hello. No doubt she was already putting the puzzle together. If my tone wasn't enough to give me away, the unfamiliar number on the caller ID would be. "Oh, my god, child. Do not tell me you're where I think you are. What did I say? What did I tell you –"

"I know, I know! I promised. But she had a storage unit in Charming, Martie! For my whole life! And she never mentioned it to me. We took a vacation there when I was still a baby!" The square polaroid burned in my back pocket as I said this. "She kept a gun, did you know that?"

"What?" Martha breathed.

"Lars came to collect it yesterday! Martha, something isn't right. I mean... a gun? All these secrets?"

Martha didn't have anything to offer me as she digested the news. After a long moment, she expelled a loud sigh. "Oh, Liz," she murmured, though I don't think she was referring to me.

"I found the key, and I'm gonna go see what she kept locked away in a storage unit, in the town she swore she'd never step foot in again."

"Lord have mercy." Martha's voice sounded very old and tired in that moment. She sighed. "I guess I shoulda known. Just… keep in touch, okay? I gotta know you ain't … that you're okay, okay?"

"Okay."

"Okay… Well. Go find the mysterious storage unit, then. I got a diner to run, and you're tyin' up the line."

"Mart!"

"…Yes?"

"I…" I cleared my throat and toed the ground. "I'll see you around."

"Love you, too, baby girl. Lord knows I do," She added bitterly, and I smiled despite myself. We said goodbye and I turned back to my car. I pulled the picture up and ran a thumb over the letters again, glancing briefly at my mother's smiling face. It seemed to add fuel to the fire, and I set off with a determined gait as I climbed into my car.

It was just about 8 o'clock in the morning when it happened. I passed the Charming county line, tearing my eyes away from city sign as I did so, and came around a corner by a stream. The sun was still rising, so the trees and bushes that lined the stream and the road cast thick ropes of shadows down across the highway. It seemed like I was the only car around for miles. I looked down to take a bite of the sticky bun that I had just peeled the plastic wrap from, and when I looked up, a shocked gasp tore from my throat.

Somehow, a fucking deer was in the middle of the road. Being a native of the desert, I don't see much wildlife past lizards and scorpions the size of my fist. The fact that it was a deer floored me. The fact that it ran right down the middle of the fucking road was enough to freeze my coordination entirely, and as it leapt up, I flung myself down into the seats and stomped on the break.

* * *

My ears rang. My neck was sore and I felt a sticky substance drying on my chin, like drool, but thicker. My mouth was cottony and my eyes stung with smoke. I coughed and my heart wedged itself in my throat when I looked up. I let out a disgusted, panicked grunt and groped for the door handle. The front half of the deer was impaled through my windshield, its face still dripping blood onto my leg.

I shoved the door open and tried to fall out onto the ground, but my seat belt held me back. I frantically tore my airbag off my lap and pawed at the seatbelt buckle until it clicked. The moment it was free, I ducked out from underneath it and tumbled onto the warm pavement.

I gulped in giant breaths of fresh air. The shock was still coursing through my veins, causing my whole body to shake with a cold that I couldn't feel. After lying there, frozen for a long moment, I clambered to my knees and threw up in the grass on the side of the road. My shaking fingers tangled into my hair and I squeezed my eyes shut. The friendly California sun was just getting the day started, and it tickled the back of my tank top and knees as I hunched over the ditch.

A noise of disgust escaped my throat as I looked down at the sticky bun that was smashed into my ribcage. Its icing was smeared across my torso, blending with blood. I reached up and hissed at the tender part of my nose. Apparently the airbag caught my face badly, and now my nose was bleeding. I tried not to bother it as I used a clean part of my tank top to wipe my nose and chin off.

I let out a growl and turned to see the deer. Anger rose unbidden, and I ran forward to kick the tire of my car as hard as I could. "God _damnit, _you stupid fuck! What the fucking fuck!? You _stupid_ fucker! How dumb do you have to be!? Survival of the fittest! That's what this was! Fuck! You!" I kicked it again and screamed at it. My fingers itched for something to try and hurt the deer more, but after that urge crept over me I realized that I _did_ just hit it with my car. That would have to do. I wished it hadn't gone through my windshield so I could at least try to back over it, though.

I paced back and forth in front of my wrecked car, wondering what to do. I couldn't exactly leave it there. I _certainly_ couldn't leave the car in the middle of the road like it was. I had no cell phone; it was in my purse back at my mom's apartment. At least my wallet was in the back pocket of my jean shorts, though, so if nothing else I could hire a tow truck. I just had to figure out where to go to locate one. I heard a rumbling behind me. It was the unmistakable growl of a motorcycle. I whirled in circles, trying to locate the direction it was coming from. "What?" I muttered. "What now? What the fuck now?"

I turned away from Charming, towards the curve I just came around when Bambi jumped through my god damn windshield, and suddenly there it was. It was right on me, and I had to lunge to the side to keep from getting hit.

I crashed to the ground and the motorcycle fishtailed a bit before its deep guttural rumbling cut to an abrupt, unnatural end.

"Oi!" The man roared at me. His voice was almost the human form of his motorcycle. He swung his leg over the edge and came tearing across the street, headed straight for me. "Are you stupid? What the _fuck_ are ya doin!?" He continued, and I pushed myself off the ground.

"Me?" I screamed back.

His hand shot through the air, almost like he was itching to punch me. "That's fuckin' right! You! Standing in the middle of the god damn –" His eyes landed beyond me. I knew that he had spotted the sorry sight of my car, so I crossed my arms and jutted my hip out.

"Yeahhh," I nodded. "Now you're getting it."

His eyes scrunched in confusion, and his mouth popped open and shut a few times. "No, actually, I don't think I am." He lifted his finger. "How does that even happen?"

"Apparently California has some pretty spritely fuckin' deer," I growled. He smirked and barked out a laugh. It was like the floodgates opened, because before I knew it he was howling with laughter and I was finally able to notice his features.

He wore a black leather vest with a grey button down beneath it, black jeans, and was conspicuously missing a helmet. His motorcycle was parked safely to the side of the road behind him, which meant even though I'd nearly run him off the road, he had taken the surprise in stride and was obviously skilled at taking care of his bike. That, or he was used to swerving so he didn't hit pedestrians. It's really a miracle that he didn't crash, or that I didn't get hit.

He had short dark hair and wore black sunglasses. I noticed, as he laughed, that he had deep set dimples and a short goatee that suited his face.

"Oh ho," He guffawed, wiping tears – _yes. _Literal tears – from his eyes. "You're having a shitty morning, aren't you, sweetheart?"

I swallowed my distaste at that nickname. "Me? Noo. Why do you ask?"

He chuckled again and I sighed. At least someone was getting some enjoyment out of this. He turned his attention back onto the deer, but before he could say anything productive he dissolved into another round of giggles.

I found myself grumbling with my arms crossed. "I really think I like this state," I muttered, mostly to myself. "There's just the right amount of salt in the air, it's got the desert sand and the palm trees – and then it's got suicidal deer. Which, ya know, is something I would've been willing to overlook, but then…" I gestured to my car. "Charming, my ass."

He grinned broadly and I sighed at his thorough enjoyment of my misfortune. "I think yer gonna need a lift."

"Oh..." I eyed his motorcycle uncomfortably. I had never even ridden on one before, and I wasn't exactly itching to change that with a perfect stranger. "Nah, I'm good."

His eyebrows shot up.

I shrugged. "What I really need is a tow."

He pointed at me. "Now _that_ can be certainly be arranged. I happen to work for a garage, so you're in luck." With that, he left to stride back to his motorcycle.

I grunted to myself and pursed my lips. I could've guessed that; this guy is a walking cliché. Motorcycle, leather vest with a large patch on the back, and he works in a garage? What are the chances that a mechanic would find me just after I wrecked my car? "Luck of the Irish, I guess," I said, simultaneously answering my own thought as well as making a lame attempt at starting conversation. It was in reference to his accent, which to my ears was Irish. He shot up and turned to point harshly at me.

"No, girl! Scottish, got it?" He leaned over and spit on the ground. "_Not _Irish."

My eyebrows shot up at the unnecessary hostility. I let my hands come up in surrender. "You got it, dude. Wrong island. Won't happen again."

He growled to himself and turned back to his bike. He extracted a helmet and then stood up straight, fishing a cell phone from his front pocket and flipping it open to call someone. "Half Sack!" He barked into his phone. I blinked in surprise. _What?_ "Yeah, gotta pick up here by the streams. Yeah. No, no, no! Not _that_. A _pick up_. A tow." He paused, pinching his nose. "Christ. All right." He snapped his phone shut and turned to face me. "Sure ya don't want a lift?" The black helmet glittered in the sun as he held it out to me.

I cleared my throat and did my best to not turn my nose up. "That's all right, I'll just hitch a ride with the tow truck."

He smirked. "Scared?"

I raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"Come on, we're goin' to the same place! Live a little. Ye need to have some fun, after yer mornin'. It's my way of apologizin' for almost making you roadkill."

I smiled and took a deep breath. "Apology accepted. Maybe next time."

He raised an eyebrow at me, the unspoken question hanging between us as I realized my mistake. There wouldn't _be_ a next time. But I chose to ignore that and went to sit on the ground.

"I'm at least gonna stay with ya. He'll be here soon," he announced, and moved to lean against his bike.

"Oh, you don't have to do that…" Although I wished he would because I didn't want to wait alone.

"Nonsense." He waved me off, I thanked him, and that was that. We waited in silence for about two minutes before I couldn't stand the quiet hiss of my car anymore.

I cleared my throat. "I'm Liz."

"Oh! Shit, I forgot all about that." He nodded at me. "Glad to meet ya, Liz, you can call me Chibs."

My eyebrows scrunched together, but I bit my tongue and forced a smile. "Okay." Another awkward silence fell over us. I cleared my throat again. "So you live in Charming?"

"Aye. Are ye passing through?" He asked, stretching back on his bike and scratching his chin.

"Sort of. I have a little business that needs taken care of, and then I don't know what," I admitted, and he raised his eyebrows.

"Oh? That sounds interestin'."

I nodded, hoping to drop the subject at that. Chibs looked at me expectantly. I felt a flare of nerves suddenly, at being studied to intently by a man like this. It occurred to me that I might have been more leery of engaging with him, had I not been so distracted by my car. But that would be unfair, wouldn't it? He had been nice so far, if a little nosy.

The silence grew heavier. More awkward. "Sorry," He finally allowed, deciding that I wouldn't share more than I already had. Not without being asked directly. "It must seem like I'm prying. It's just that this is a small town and I know most of the people around here. Yer definitely new."

I smirked at that. "You think?"

He grinned easily back. "I'd have remembered that face." I scoffed and looked away from his probing gaze. The loose dirt and gravel from the side of the road crunched under my weight as I shifted.

"Hey," I paused. "Did you hear about that explosion last night? It seemed like it happened here in Charming from what I could tell. I was trying to find something about it on the news but the shitty motel room I was in didn't get any channels."

Chibs looked away. "Explosion? Sorry, I'm not sure what you mean."

"There was one pretty late last night. Sometime after midnight. I could have sworn it was over here. You didn't hear anything?"

Chibs shrugged at me and shook his head. "Haven't heard anything yet this morning, no."

"Really? Huh." I wondered if I would ever know. "Anyways..." I mulled over my options. I could ask him about Clay Morrow. I could. You never know, he might just know him. But then, no matter the answer, I would have to explain why I was asking after him, and that was a conversation I wasn't quite ready for. So instead, I said, "You wouldn't happen to know of any storage units here in Charming, would you?" He blinked at me. "They would've been around for at least 3 decades. Probably pretty crappy, cheap…"

"Yeah." He cut in. "Yeah, yeah. Charming Units, it's not far from the shop."

I couldn't help the smile that broke across my face. "Perfect. You are the _best_ stranger to run across, you know that?"

He snorted and nodded confidently. "Aye, that's true in this case."

I laughed because it felt as though a weight had been lifted from my shoulders, and he smiled back at my enthusiasm. It was the truth; he was the best possible person to meet. He's got connection to a tow truck, he's not a complete asshole, he's a mechanic, and he knows where the storage units are at… Our meeting was perfect. Serendipitously fortunate, you could say. Just as I was about to ask him what brought him over to the states, a white tow truck broke the horizon. It came over the hill that led to Charming, and I nearly fell over in relief.

Chibs stepped away from his bike to whistle at the truck. I noticed that the back of his vest had a grim reaper on it with the phrase Sons of Anarchy patched below it. I mildly wondered if he was a part of some sort of motorcycle gang, and then snorted at my imagination. Too many movies. As the truck approached, I spotted a young man driving who was gaping at the rear end of the deer that protruded from my car.

He shut the truck off and slid onto the pavement, gawking at my car. "Holy shit!" He said. "You didn't say anything! This is the wildest thing I've seen in weeks!"

Chibs laughed and clapped him on the back. "Me too, Half-Sack."

At that name, my jaw dropped a bit, and I found that I could no longer resist. "Okay." I spoke up, causing the young man to turn and look at me. I ignored him as his eyes raked up and down my body. "What's with the names?"

"Oh," Half-Sack laughed. "I lost my left nut when I was in Afghanistan."

I choked back a startled laugh and clamped a hand over my laugh. "Oh! Uh ho. Well, uh." I bit back my amusement and looked at Chibs, who twitched with stifled laughter. "Yeah. Thanks for your service."

Chibs outright laughed at that. "Yeah, she really turned that one around, eh?" He elbowed Half-Sack, and the younger man laughed and seemed relatively unbothered by the awkward encounter.

"Thanks for the tow, too. How much do I owe you?"

Half-Sack jerked his chin in acknowledgment. "Only 150 bucks for the tow. You want your car fixed..." An uncertain breath passed through his lips as he considered the state of my car. He tilted his head and seemed prepared to shoot a number off, but Chibs grabbed him round the scruff of his neck meaningfully before he could.

"What One-Nut-Wonder _means_ to say, is 450 and we'll call it square." Chibs clamped a hand down on Half-Sack's shoulder and squeezed it fiercely. "The gal's had a rough morning. Let's not make it worse, shall we?"

Half-Sack blinked in surprise but nodded. "Okay. Whatever you say, bossman."

We all stood awkwardly for a moment. Half-Sack smiled between me and Chibs, until Chibs finally clapped his hands. "Skip to it, there, laddie! We ain't got all mornin'."

"Oh!" He hopped towards my car and ran backwards for a second. "You gonna help, man?"

"No way!" Chibs hollered, striding back to his bike. "I'll meet you two at the shop."

"Oh, that's just wrong!" Half-Sack yelled over the roar of Chibs' bike, and I could hear the Scot's laughter pealing over his revving. He pulled away and saluted us, and I shifted uncomfortably by the tow truck as Half-Sack hooked my car up.

As I came around the side of the truck, I looked at the TM emblem and didn't give it a second thought until I came onto the bed of the truck. There, sprawled in bold white letters, was the name _Teller-Morrow._ I froze. My heart jumped into my throat. I blinked sluggishly at it, then turned to look at Half-Sack. He was totally oblivious as I frantically looked between him and the truck, shaking my head in disbelief.

It wasn't supposed to happen so fast. It wasn't meant to be this easy. I'm not ready. Maybe it's not the same guy. Maybe Morrow is a big family, and it's Clay's brother – or sister, or son… or… god how much family do I theoretically have?

"Ready?" Half-Sack said in my ear. I practically jumped a foot into the air, then whirled to slap his shoulder.

"Christ!" I breathed. "You can't _do _that! What, they don't tie a bell around your damn neck?"

He blinked in surprise. "I was talking to you the whole time."

I frowned, looking away and seeing that the car was hooked up, deer and all, ready to go. "Let's just get out of here." Without waiting for a response, I sped around the side of the truck and leapt into the passenger seat. My heart was still erratically beating in my chest, like a rabbit thumping its foot against my ribcage.

Half-Sack slid into the driver's seat and eyed me wearily. "Okay..." He said slowly. "We're off." He leaned down to start the engine and pulled away, turning around to head into Charming. An extremely stifling silence fell over us. I desperately tried to think of a safe, mundane topic to discuss. But all I could think was _Clay, Clay, Clay, Clay_…

He sniffed, coughed. Finally, he said, "So." I cleared my throat. "What brings you to Charming?"

"I was actually just gonna get to my mom's storage unit. Think you could drop me at… uh… what's it called? Charming Units?" I said, and Half-Sack enthusiastically nodded.

"Oh, sure! No problem, it's on the way. It'll take a while to fix your car anyways." He suddenly lifted his hips from the seat to dig in his pocket front pocket. I yelped as he swerved on the road a little. Behind us, my car made a startling noise that sounded suspiciously like groaning metal and the shrill scrape of metal on pavement. I gasped and Half-Sack cursed, then quickly covered it with an anxious laugh. "Whoops! Sorry. I was just gonna give you this." He handed over a white business card with TM stamped across it, Teller-Morrow scrawled in smaller letters beneath that. "It – It's got our number and stuff, if you need to reach us… when you wanna come check out your car. Whenever you wanna pay, or if you have other questions. That kind of thing."

I nodded in understanding and shoved the card to the bottom of my pocket. "Thanks."

Another silence fell over us, though it was less awkward now. I cleared my throat and looked out the window.

"Hey, um… quick question," He hummed to himself, apparently uneasy and conflicted with what he was about to ask. It in turn made me nervous, and I frowned at him. "Can I, like, keep the deer, man?"

I blinked at him. "Excuse me?"

"You know. The deer." I continued to stare blankly at him, and he looked between me and the road.

"Can I keep it?"

I squinted my eyes a little, snapping my mouth shut. "Um… Knock yourself out, kid. I just want it out of my windshield. After that I don't care."

He grinned and breathed out one of those jock-ish, one hundred percent boyish laughs. "Sweet. Thanks, man! That's so nice of you!"

I pursed my lips and looked out the window, widening my eyes to myself. "No problem." Weirdo.

* * *

**(A/N): WOO! We've met the first few members of SOA. It's about to get real, y'all! What do you think is gonna happen when she sees Clay? When she meets Gemma? And have you picked up on how similar her temper is to Clay? Hopefully I'm portraying that well. Let me know what you think! Thank you guys so much, I'll update soon!**


	3. Chapter 3

**_(A/N): WOW! I did_ not _expect such an enthusiastic response from you guys, but I LOVE IT! Keep it coming, and I will return the favor! __This chapter was written under the influence of the lovely bands Weezer, Cage the Elephants, Hozier, and The Red Hot Chili Peppers. And especially the song quoted below. I do not own anything except for my own character. (Sidenote, a lovely reviewer corrected a horrendous spelling error and I've just spent 10 minutes going through to fix it on my phone! This is why I pester you guys to review, you keep me on track. Thank you, Tiki! Kutte-not-cut. Whoops)_**

* * *

_"So bum me a cigarette, buy me a beer _

_til I'm happy to be here, happy to be here."_

_Family - Noah Gunderson_

"So, listen, man." Half-Sack's voice drew me from my thoughts. For the past three minutes, I had been contemplating what might be in my mother's storage unit. Her reminder left me with eyes unfocused and a heavy heart, and it was with this feeling that I looked back at him. Apparently this stretch of silence was too much for the young man next to me, because he was shifting around like a junkie in need of a fix. He cleared his throat and scratched his neck. "I don't wanna, be like – um, ya know..." a crooked grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "_Rude_, right?" I raised an eyebrow at him and patronizingly shook my head. He nodded. "Yeah! But I think I need to be honest. You stink."

My eyebrows rocketed as I blinked and reared back at this blunt statement. "Excuse me?"

"Aw! Crap! Sorry, man! Not in like, a sweaty, haven't-showered-for-days way! In like, you're-covered-in-deer's-blood-and-probably-some-of-your-own way. Sorry." He shook his head. "There. I said it. So maybe you should change, before you go check out your storage unit." He shrugged and looked at me nervously. "I don't know, man. That's all I'm saying."

I looked down at the blood soaked tank top that was now beginning to crust against my skin. My nose scrunched up in disgust, and I figured that maybe two percent of that blood was my own. Most of it was, in fact, from the deer, and therefore stank to high heaven. I sighed deeply, feeling it in my bones. "Oh." He nodded sympathetically. "That's alright. Except I don't have any clean clothes with me, so…"

"Yeah, no! That's what I meant. I realized that you probably had some clothes in your car, right? So what I was actually trying to say was maybe we should stop by the shop first." He turned his blinker on and didn't notice as I started to shift uneasily in alarm.

"Oh, uh, no no!" My voice grew squeakier and I flapped my hands around my seat belt. Forcing myself not to overreact, I cut a sharp line through the air with my hand. "No." _No way_ am I going to that garage! Not yet! "That's not a good idea, because see, I didn't pack for this trip because I didn't think I would be staying long and I never thought I'd – hit a fuckin' deer – so, all I really want is to go to…" I trailed off as the garage came into view. "Oh," I squeaked. My chest rose and fell heavily, I couldn't gulp in the warm, sticky air of the tow truck fast enough. My nostrils flared and I felt something sinking in my stomach as the TM sign grew larger before my eyes, before finally rising up faster than I could control it.

He frowned at me as we pulled up, and I nervously took in the view. Bikes lined the parking lot, and Chibs was leaning against one. He waved at us as we pulled in and yelled something that was muffled from the interior of the truck. The garage itself was nice; its doors were already open and cars could be seen inside in varying stages of deconstruction. Some were lifted, some had their hoods open, one was a combination thereof. Not far off, there was another building with picnic tables and a playground nearby. That last part definitely surprised me because it seemed so out of place. The entire place was abuzz with activity.

"Well, I'm sure we can find something for ya to wear," Half-Sack said, still looking at me strangely as he opened the door and leapt from the truck. "Come on!"

My eye twitched because I wasn't particularly fond of being told what to do, especially after being forced to do something I had no desire to participate in. I choked back the vile words that sprung to mind and reluctantly opened the door to follow after him. The noise of the busy garage hit my ears. Music blared from the speakers, a song I couldn't identify but had the urge to sing along with. It fit the atmosphere. Men were everywhere – all of them walking with this swagger and an air about them that screamed they were not afraid to throw the first punch. Similar to Lars and his men, and yet... different.

What struck me the most, however, wasn't the staggering amount of testosterone. My eye kept catching that same decal that Chibs donned - except it was on the back of a few other men and painted on some of the walls. Something in the corner of my mind was itching to be brought to light, but for some reason I felt the need to beat it into submission. Something deep within me, some sixth sense, told me this was a realization I wasn't quite ready to contend with, so I forced my mind to lock it down as the grim reaper beckoned me from the back of Chibs's jacket.

He turned, and the eerie skeleton disappeared. I broke from my trance as he strode towards me.

"Hey!" He greeted, and gave Half-Sack a hearty clap on the back of the neck. Half-Sack winced, but didn't shake his hand off. "Lizzie! I thought ye wanted to go to the storage units?"

"Oh, call me Liz –" I automatically started, and Chibs cut in again.

"Lizzie."

My eye twitched again but I ignored him. "I _did_ want to go to the storage units. It would seem that I'm not exactly –" I paused and my eyes flickered to my soiled tank top and jean shorts. "Presentable."

Chibs's mouth fell open and he nodded in understanding. "Right, of course. Do ya have a shirt in your car?"

I frowned and resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of my nose to quell my exasperation. "No, I didn't think I'd need a change of clothes." I managed.

"Hmph." Chibs grunted, and gestured for me to follow him. I waved quickly at Half-Sack and bounced to keep up with Chibs.

Half-Sack raised his arms in exasperation and hollered after Chibs. "Hey, man! What am I supposed to do with this?"

Chibs continued walking and ignored him. He reached down to his bike, fishing through a saddle-bag to retrieve a black shirt. "It might not fit right, but it's better than nothin'."

I took the balled up shirt in my hand and shook it out. It was a henley, and rather thick for the weather, but I knew that it would have to do on such short notice. "Thanks, Chibs. You're too good to me," I joked, and Chibs grinned. "Obviously I'll make sure it's clean before I return it."

He looked me over appraisingly, his eyes lingering on the rather thick, drying coat of deer blood that spread over my lap and most of my torso. With disgust that he disguised under a wry smile, he waved me off. "Don't worry about it. Restroom's through there, sweetheart. Go clean up and I'll take you to the storage unit if you want."

I turned in the direction he pointed, the sound of my car being lowered to the ground filling the parking lot as I went. A new line of motorcycles flew across the black pavement. My eyes couldn't help but stray to the newcomers. I felt that now familiar prickle in the back of my mind, my hands sweating slightly with anticipation, as I saw they each wore matching leather vests. My pace picked up as I made my way toward the bathroom.

I made eye contact briefly with a man who had shoulder length, gorgeous blonde hair as he walked away from the bikes that had just rolled in. My breath caught in my throat at his expression. It was so many things at once – shock, curiosity, disgust – but all of it was tinged with this interest that made my heart kick up a little faster. I swallowed roughly and took a steadying breath after we passed each other. What the hell? When I turned to look at him, he was already focused on someone else, his hand raised in greeting. Chibs walked alongside him to the garage, pointing eagerly at my car.

When I reached the bathroom, I looked around. The lighting was somewhat poor, and the walls were painted deep red and black. I quickly checked the stalls. Empty. I bounded back to the black chipped door and flipped the heavy lock.

My entire body sagged against it. The image of that grim reaper flickered across my mind like the reel of an old film - on the back of all those men's vests, on the wall near the picnic tables, everywhere – _Sons of Anarchy… _What the fuck did I get myself into?

* * *

My worst habit is making lists of things I knew for sure. Ever since I was little, it's been a way for me to tether myself to reality because my mind tends to run wild, and if I don't make a checklist, I'll end up writing this dramatic, inaccurate story that makes everything seem much worse.

So here's my list.

1.) I've got a total of fifty bucks in my wallet. I have a card, but I'll need an ATM if I want to get any more cash. Basically, I'm skating the line of being broke.

2.) I can't help but feel overwhelmingly trapped. I have no transportation, except for the men outside this door. I've been led straight into the lion's den.

3.) My mind is desperately trying to make connections about those vests, and it's all I can do to stop myself.

4.) I'm eighty percent sure that right now, as I try to stifle my panic attack, Clay Morrow is roaming around outside somewhere. Only about three inches of thick wood separate me from him. My _father _is on the other side of this door.

Oh, and Five. My car is out of commission, at least for a few days.

And although none of these things ease my mind, I felt it was easier to breathe. Suddenly, with my list completed and everything in perspective, the air thinned enough to cross the line from being thick and oppressive to being plentiful and cool against my sticky skin. I moved away from the door to the sinks, cautiously looking in the mirror.

I couldn't stop from flinching. I looked at myself and suddenly understood the look of disgust and shock that the man outside had given me. Red blood had dried to a disturbing, deep reddish brown color that streaked down my chin and across the skin of my neck and chest. I looked like I had ripped a bag of blood open with my teeth. No doubt thanks to the airbag that exploded on my face... My arms had rogue streaks of rusty, congealed blood as well, but nothing was as bad as my stained tank top and shorts.

There was no love loss as I stripped the stiff tank top from my skin. I yanked a few paper towels from the nearby dispenser, soaked it in cool water, and began to wipe the dried blood from my skin. Starting with my face, I worked my way down until it was all gone, and stopped to take in my new appearance.

My skin was slightly stained red in some areas, and it was enough to make me sigh in defeat and resignation. My eyes were duller than I remembered. The last time I had truly looked myself in the mirror was before my mother passed, and I could tell the loss of her had taken its toll on my physical well being. My grief, as everything else, manifested itself in my eyes. The flicker of life that once danced behind my icy blue eyes had died to an ember. Though my eyes still burned, it was with a different kind of fuel, and gave an overall impression of age. I looked older, more life-weary and weather worn. I didn't have to wonder when I lost myself. It was no mystery when this person standing in front of me had taken over.

My hair, ever resilient, was still shining in the soft florescent glow of the bathroom lights. It had the long waves that mirrored my mother's, shining red in the sun, while wholly appearing mahogany in every other light. My usually tanned skin was pale, enough so that the skin under my eyes seemed bruised from lack of sleep and the remnants of the alcohol I treated myself to last night. There was a pink tinge to my cheeks that was born from being freshly scrubbed.

I couldn't say that I was pleased with my appearance, but I was satisfied that I didn't look like I had just stepped out of the pages of _Carrie_, so I called this a successful sponge bath and tugged Chibs's black shirt over my head. It reached down to just past the front of my shorts, basically swallowing me whole. After a moment's hesitation, I shoved the front of the shirt down the front of my shorts, the back of the shirt pulling itself taut against my hips. I did my best to clean the blood from my shorts and was just throwing away the wadded up paper towels when a heavy knock echoed in the bathroom.

"Just a second," I called, throwing everything into the trash can and running my damp hands over my hair. I took a deep breath as I strode over to the door, threw the lock back and pulled the heavy wooden door open.

Chibs had one hand on the frame as he leaned against it to wait for me. His dark brown eyes flashed in surprise at my new appearance. "Well, shit." He grunted. "You look different."

A smirk tugged at my mouth. "Thanks. New shirt."

He raised an eyebrow. "That is _not_ what I meant. Though, I do think you pull it off better than I do."

"Flatterer," I teased, and amusement tickled the corner of his mouth.

"So, we've got a problem." He stepped away from the doorframe and into the sunlight. The sun shined against the black leather and I forced my gaze back to his face as I closed the bathroom behind me. "I know you wanna get to the storage units, but can it wait for a few hours? I've gotta tend to some business."

How many times had I uttered those same words in the last few days? _I've got to tend to some business._ It wasn't ideal, but if it was my only option I would have to adapt. I couldn't deny the panic that quietly scratched at my heart though, because I dreaded seeing Clay. I didn't particularly want to stay at TM garage longer than necessary, but it would seem I was between a rock and a hard place as I turned to see Half-Sack – my only other ride – violently hacking at the deer with a chainsaw. Any other day, I would've gagged at the sight, but some sort of sick satisfaction swelled in my gut. I hate that damn deer.

"Doesn't seem like I have much of a choice," I said with an air of resignation. Chibs sighed as if he knew I would react this way, and I regretted my choice of words. "But I can't say I don't understand. Do what you gotta do. I'll find some way to pass the time." My mother's values shone through as I uttered my next words. "I'm just thankful you've been such a help, Chibs. Really, thank you."

This seemed to soften him, and he apologized again as he led me to a nearby building across the parking lot. "I won't just leave ya to occupy yerself at the garage though! Now, don't tell anyone I'm doin' this, aye? Technically, I'm not supposed to. But you seem nice enough, and these are extenuating circumstances, so there's drinks, food, and good music." He explained. "Maybe not the most welcoming company, but the drinks help with that." I laughed, though I wondered exactly what that meant as we opened the door to the building and he put his hand at my shoulder to lead me in.

I nearly froze in my tracks, and would have if it wasn't for Chibs's steady guiding hand, as I took in the interior of the building. It was actually what appeared to be a bar, with the Sons of Anarchy emblem tattooed in nearly every available space. I saw a group of scantily dressed women nearby scowling at me with a hatred that I had no idea strangers could harbor for me. It made me feel wholly unwelcome, though that feeling eased as Chibs steered me toward the bar.

"Oi, fellas!" The small crowd of men that were seated on the barstools turned at the sound of Chib's voice. Each of them were _huge_, hulking, tattooed, slightly greasy men. Well – not _greasy_, exactly. Just rough looking. I struggled not to stereotype them as their eyes raked up and down my form, though I couldn't say I wasn't doing the exact same.

One of them, who Chibs introduced as Bobby, was a rotund man with corkscrew black and grey curls, his belly positively spilling over his black jeans and hugged by his own leather vest. Another, Tig, was so tall I had to look up to make eye contact with him, his chin tickled with a dark goatee that was longer than Chibs', enough so to be styled at a point. Like the stereotypical picture of the devil. Tig had hair just long enough to tickle his neck. I tried not to roll my eyes at his lecherous gaze as he leered openly at me, winking as I assessed him.

Next to Tig was a bald gentleman who seemed to have the most pissed-off resting face I've ever seen in my life, and I pressed my lips together to suppress a smirk as Chibs told me his name was _Happy_. I quickly looked away from the disgruntled brute when Chibs introduced the next man, Juice. Juice had an interesting set of tattoos across his skull which framed his shaved brown Mohawk, and he had a friendly smile that he offered me as he raised his glass in greeting. I finally let my eyes rest where they had been flickering to through the entire introduction as Chibs introduced the final man.

"This little lad here," Chibs barked as he clamped down on the familiar blonde man's shoulders, "is Jackie Boy."

"Well, you've managed to name every damn man in the bar, Chibs, without ever saying who you were introducing," Bobby rumbled, though the good natured smirk on his face told me that he was simply speaking in his normal voice. I began to gather that each of these men would probably have a deep, gravelly voice that mimicked their bikes. "Not to mention what the hell she's doing here."

"Oi," Chibs pointed a reprimanding finger at Bobby, who merely raised an eyebrow. "I was gettin' there! As I was saying, before I was so _rudely_ interrupted," He paused to cut a chastising glare at Bobby who chuckled and grumbled at him to let it go, "This here is a customer. But not just any customer, she's the –"

"Yuppie." Jackie interrupted, and I couldn't help the shock that flashed across my face. Chibs smacked the back of Jackie's head harshly, and his blonde hair swept across his tanned forehead in the process. I let out an amused laugh as he winced and smacked Chibs's chest in retaliation with a remorseless snicker.

"Are you trying to make a bad first impression?" Chibs asked, exasperated.

"Careful," Tig cautioned. "She'll leave us a bad review on Yelp."

Juice and Bobby laughed and Jackson raised an eyebrow.

"I was just repeating what you said earlier, Chibs," Jackson explained. "Can't help it if I have to make connections between your erratic explanations."

"He gotcha there, Chibs!" Happy grinned almost violently, and I couldn't keep my smile of amusement off my face. All things considered, I supposed _yuppie_ was one of the least offensive things I'd been called behind my back.

Chibs merely poured a glass of amber liquid, sliding it towards me with a meaningful look. I remembered his comment about alcohol helping the bad company in here, and barked out a short, loud laugh as I accepted the drink. I sipped at the burning liquid and couldn't help but remember my mother's whiskey as I drank it.

"Right, then, this is Lizzie." Chibs finally said, and all the men turned their eyes to me. I pursed my lips.

"It's just Liz." Suddenly, with the full force of their undivided attention on me, I felt awkward.

"So how'd you manage to get a deer stuck in your windshield, Liz?" Bobby asked, finally the one to address the elephant in the room.

"_This_ I've gotta hear," Happy growled, his eyes squinted with what I assumed to be amusement.

I took another sip from my glass and set it down. "Honestly, it's not a good story. It was the weirdest thing that's ever happened to me. I was just rounding a bend in the road right before the border of town, and out of nowhere this fuckin' deer jumps straight at me."

"What do you mean, at you? Across the road?" Juice interrupted.

My eyebrows shot up and I shook my heat adamantly. "No, that's what I'm trying to say! I swear to god, this stupid as shit deer was running _right_ down the middle of the fucking road!" They laughed as I stuck my hand out as if to point down a road. "Not such a _Charming_ first impression."

Some of the men laughed and booed at my joke, but all of them seemed impressed, or rather _amused_, by this story. "I never heard of a deer running down the middle of the road," Bobby shook his head in disbelief, and Tig leaned across Juice so he could see Bobby.

"We should be goin', brother. Clay's gonna get antsy."

"Yeah, alright." Bobby blew out a deep breath and grumbled to himself as he stood. "Nice to meet ya, Liz."

"Stick around, darlin'!" Tig winked at me, and I tried not to openly cringe. A corner of my mouth tugged up and I waved at the two men as they raucously made their way to the door.

"Right, let's hit it, Juicy boy!" Chibs suddenly said, and I panicked slightly as I realized I was about to be left alone, being that Happy had already mysteriously disappeared. I then remembered Jackson, and peered at him from the corner of my eye as the two men pushed away from the bar. He was watching me, and suddenly I tried to ignore it. "I'll be back soon, Lizzie, and then ya can get to yer storage unit."

I started to nod at him when Jackson perked up. "You're headed to the storage units?"

I looked away from Chibs to Jackson's sparkling blue eyes. "Uh, I was hoping to, yes."

Jackson seemed as satisfied as a fat cat, fixing a lazy, smug smile on his face just for me. "Well, it's your lucky day, darlin'. I was headed that way."

"Darling? What happened to yuppie?" I scrunched my eyebrows together.

"Seems to suit ya better," He shrugged, and let a vaguely amused smile play at his lips as though he was expecting me to swoon. I scoffed and looked away.

"Alright, keep it in yer pants Jackie boy! But if he's headed that way and if it's okay with you, Lizzie, it's okay with me." Chibs stood near the door, and I gripped my glass as I looked between him and Jackson.

"Ah, hell," I grumbled. "Yeah, that'd be great." I raised my glass to Jackson, and he smoothly nodded at me and then jerked his chin at Chibs and Juice.

"See ya guys in a bit," and they waved as they strode out of the bar.

I felt the stinging stares of all the women in the corner. If it was hate before, it's loathing now. I scowled back at them in confusion before finishing my drink.

"Charming Units, right?" Jackson pushed away from the bar and patted his back pockets. I joined him, but paused to pat my back pocket for my wallet in the process. As I pulled it out and popped it open to flip through my cash, his hand batted the air in my direction. "Forget that, darlin'. S'on the house."

I blinked in surprise and wondered how he had the authority to make such a decision. But, my manners took over and I nodded with a grateful smile at him. "Yeah, Charming Units." I paused and pulled the key from my wallet. "I think."

He took a deep breath and glanced down at the key in my fingers. "Yeah, that tag's Charming Units."

He turned to stride toward the door. The alcohol that warmed my veins gave me confidence when I saw that damn reaper again. "Alright, wait wait wait!" I put my hands in the air to signal him to stop. He turned back to me with his eyebrows raised.

"Problem?" He said, barely masked amusement dancing in his eyes.

"I can't deal with it anymore. _What _is with the matching vests?" I gestured dramatically to the leather reaper on his back.

His jaw all but dropped, and he stepped back in surprise – and, I realized, maybe offense. Whoops?

I half expected a _no you didn't_ to escape his mouth, but he did the next best thing with an, "Okay. First of all, this is _not _a vest. So don't ever call it that again." I choked back the laugh that was begging to escape my lips and nodded seriously. "It's a kutte. Got it? A _kutte._" He instructed, biting his words. I rolled my lips into my mouth and nodded. "And second, don't ask about it."

My amusement hit the ground with a resounding thud. Curiosity and shock flooded my system. "Don't–what? I can't even ask? Why?"

He turned to me with a huge grin on his face, and my body immediately relaxed with a rush as I realized he had been joking. "It's just a club, sweet cheeks. Why? Does the reaper _scare ya?" _

"Scare me? No, it's nice, I was admiring it and thought I might cross-stitch one to give to my grandma," I snapped, and Jackson chuckled.

"Point taken."

I sighed and gestured vaguely. "It's _creepy_. You know it is."

He shot a cocky grin over his shoulder, leading the way outside. "You say creepy, I say fucking awesome." I noticed that he had a gait which rivaled the confidence and cockiness of his smirk. Yeah, this dude is definitely full of himself. Seems that someone should knock him down a few pegs…

He came to a stop in front of a bike. Whatever retort I had poised died on my lips as I gaped at the black, shining motorcycle. He swung his leg over the side and plucked a helmet up, holding it out to me. Finally, he noticed my expression.

"Aw, don't be afraid," He had a full on grin, and I wanted to smack it off his beautiful face.

"It – It's just," I started, with a thick gulp. "I … Oh, fuck it." Throwing caution to the wind and my hands in the air, I snatched the helmet from his slightly shocked, but mostly smug self. He pretended not to notice as I fumbled with the straps. For a moment, at least. Then he couldn't seem to pass up the opportunity to tease me some more.

"…Need some help there?" He smartly quipped.

"Oh, fuck off," I snapped, and he chuckled before raising his hands in surrender. My fingers awkwardly groped at the straps for another minute or so before he grunted in exasperation and stood to straddle the bike.

He impatiently flapped his hand at me to come closer. "C'mere."

I stubbornly jutted my chin out.

"Come _on_, don't be like that! You don't know what you're doing! Do you wanna get the helmet on or not? Cause you're not riding without it, and I'm your only ride for hours." He raised eyebrows at me expectantly and pressed his lips together. "Believe it or not, doll, I've got other things to do today."

I narrowed my eyes and grumbled as I shuffled over to him. My eyes unfocused as I concentrated on not reacting to his proximity. His fingers expertly gripped the straps, briefly brushing my chin as he secured the helmet to my head. I bit my lip to keep any retorts from tumbling out my mouth while he yanked it a little too tight with a smirk, jerking me dangerously close to his face. I steadied myself against his shoulders.

My eyes flashed dangerously, "Hey, asshole!" I grunted, and he snickered in delight.

"You're welcome." He lowered himself back to his bike, and patted the seat behind him.

I threw my leg over the side of the bike and plopped down behind him. He let the bike thunder to life, and I shamefully admit that it startled me a little. As I adjusted to the noise, he walked the bike out of his parking space – in my opinion, he did it a little too jerkily, and it was definitely on purpose. I was nearly thrown over the edge of the seat, gasped, and threw my arms around his shoulders. I felt them shake with undeniable laughter as I gripped him with all my strength and squeezed my thighs partly around him and partly around the seat. He twisted the handle harshly and the bike echoed through the parking lot as he tore out. I stewed at his reckless need to tease me as we cruised to the units. Once we were on the roads, he calmed down.

Just as Chibs suggested, it was merely a few blocks away from the garage. I watched the buildings and businesses of Charming pass by, the bustle of the quaint city coming off as slightly endearing. I saw children playing on the sidewalks of apartment buildings and adults in benches and chairs sitting nearby.

The weather was a perfect seventy five degrees out, the breeze working to cool off what sweat did tease my skin, and I told myself not to get too comfy in this town. But it was difficult to do as we pulled into the parking lot of the storage units, as it was a nice change of pace from the sweltering desert sun I was accustomed to that left most people in a bad mood.

He pulled into a parking space, carefully, and as soon as the kickstand was down, I was off the bike. I yanked dumbly at the chin strap of my helmet, desperately trying to claw it off. It worked just enough to loosen it, and as Jackson turned the bike off, I freed myself from the helmet.

I clutched it in my hands and to hit his back with it. He winced and made a noise of disapproval, reaching back to rub at the spot. He stood to put distance between us like I was a lunatic. "What was that for!?" He asked.

"For acting like an idiot when you were pulling out!" I told him, unashamed. "What were you trying to do? Scare me? Piss me off? It worked!"

"I'm sorry!" Jackson put his hands up in surrender. "It was just funny, that's all. You're right, it was stupid. I won't do it again."

Feeling like I may have overreacted, I paused and took a breath, glancing away. "It's fine." With that, I turned away and started towards some units.

"Do you even know where you're going?" He called, and I growled to myself.

"Away from _you_."

"Don't be like that, sweet cheeks," He crooned, and I let out a growl.

"Hey!" My eyes flashed as I turned to look at him in contempt. "Don't _call _me that!"

He threw his head back and laughed at me, which only enraged me more. I turned to lunge at him and he shook his head, putting his hands up for the second time. This worked to settle me a bit, but I still sent daggers to him with my eyes from where I stood. "Seriously though," He smirked. "Which one's yours, if you're so sure?"

I glanced down at the key and tag clutched between my fingers. "Unit 294," I said with false confidence. Unmasked shock flitted across handsome features. He actually stepped back from me before he managed to recover, and I was flooded with confusion at his reaction.

"Alright then, _sweet cheeks._" He smirked. "Lead the way," He swept his hand out, gesturing to all the units at once, which didn't help the direction issue I was running into.

"Right." I said stubbornly, turning away from him to look at the rows and rows of storage units for some sort of sign. I cleared my throat and shifted one way, surreptitiously peering at him from the corner of my eye to see his reaction. He simply watched me with a smug, suspicious expression, so I leaned the other way. Nothing.

I sighed heavily and focused back on the units. At the end of each one was a sign, saying Units A-C, D-G, so on and so forth… but I didn't know the letter of this unit. I knew the number. With a sickening realization, I wondered if they had reorganized, added, and generally renamed the units. If they have letters now, it would be really fucking difficult to try to find _unit 294_. But it had, after all, been two decades since this unit was rented by my mother, and furthermore – she didn't need to write down the new name down because she would've been able to remember where it was. Finally his surprise at my clueless, idiotic '_unit 294' _made sense.

I was royally screwed, and I turned to Jackson with slightly slumped shoulders. "Yeah," I begrudgingly admitted. "I'm not sure. See, it's not _my _unit, per se."

"Mhmm." He hummed with a knowing smirk on his lips.

I scoffed and slid my eyes away from him. "So, I could use your help."

He hopped toward me with unnecessary enthusiasm. "Aw, only since you asked me so sweetly," He teased, and I narrowed my gaze at him. He snickered in response and took the key when I practically threw it at him. "Unit 234," He read. "Well, there's your problem. They rearranged."

"I get that," I snapped. "Are seriously you going to make this a thing? Can you not just show me where it is?"

He gestured at me to calm down. "I was getting to it! Our units are pretty close, actually. Same row. Come on, I'll show you."

I looked up at him with relief on my face. Relief that he was so familiar with the units, relief that my mother's unit hadn't been demolished, moved, or generally disturbed. Just, relieved. He seemed to approve of my change in attitude and jerked his head in the direction of the units to our left. "C'mon. Let's go."

* * *

_**(A/N): I don't know about you guys, but I love the idea of Jax and Liz together! They are both struggling over familial issues, namely their father, and they both have tempers... they just seem to write themselves. Let me know what you thought, it's my personal favorite so far! **_

_**If you have suggestions, I appreciate any and all ideas! So let me know in a review or message me!**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Two updates in a single weekend! Hot Dog! Look at me go. So, it seems that we have a mixed reaction; pretty evenly split. Some say Jax, some say Chibs. I say, let's test both, eh!? My original intention was Chibs. But, we'll see how it goes. I own nothing. These chapters were heavily inspired by the great Noah Gunderson.**_

* * *

I paid close attention to the route we took. Down the units labeled E, and it was the fifth on the left. I thumbed the key between my fingers, anxious to open the unit. This is it. This is the whole reason I finally made the trek down here. Well, not the whole. But if anyone asked, that was my story and I planned to stick to it.

My throat felt dry and I could hear summer bugs as they buzzed all around us, the air thick as it hummed with traffic and noises of the city behind us. Jackson bent over to jam the key in the lock. It took a moment of fumbling before he sighed loudly and shook his head. "It's not gonna fit."

"What?"

"The key must be old," Jackson reasoned, and stood to hand it back to me. He looked at the storage unit and seemed to consider something. He looked back at me, and he must have changed his mind, because he shook his head. "You could try asking the people in the office for a new copy."

I scowled down at the key. "Seriously? You crappy little..." I trailed off with a sigh. "Alright. Thanks."

He nodded and pointed me in the direction of the office, and then watched me as I left. It didn't take long to get to the office, which evidently lacked air conditioning and the basic supplies one would need to clean, because it smelled like a stuffy, musty office building that was abandoned years ago. The man at the counter barely cared about the proper identification I showed him, and if I hadn't volunteered it I'm not convinced he even would have asked me. I showed him the key, and he knew without asking what I was after. He disappeared in the back for a moment and when he came back out, I had a brand new silver ring.

By the time I got back to my unit, Jackson was a few doors down at his, and it was wide open when I approached. He had an air rifle in his hand and swung it around to aim at me. I put my hands up and pretended to surrender. "Not the face!"

He snickered briefly and lowered the toy. I noticed that most of what was in the unit seemed to be toys, or just generally supplies for a baby. Play pens and an old, sad looking crib, with random boxes and junk piled all around it. Jackson put the air rifle down and asked about the key.

I dangled it from my fingers to show him and he made a noise of approval. Without being prompted, he brushed his hands off on his jeans and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. He offered me a kind smile as he stepped out to join me and gestured to my unit. "Want some help?"

"Oh," I blinked, somewhat surprised since I hadn't exactly expected the assistance from him. "Yeah, that might be good. Thank you."

He waved me off. This time, I bent down and tried the key, and it worked. The padlock popped off and Jackson bent down beside me to grab the handle of the door. The metal grated when he tried to lift it, squealing with age. His face contorted with the effort it took, lines creasing his smooth features. I jumped forward, placed my own hands under the edge of the hot orange metal, and pushed upwards with him, and together we lifted the door over our heads.

He looked at me in what I think was surprise, and I made a point to ignore it.

"What, they don't open these things like once a month?" I grumbled in annoyance. He smirked. "Least they could do is keep the hinges oiled. I mean, it's like they're not getting paid or something."

The sunlight spilled into the dusty storage unit. It was mostly furniture. A bed frame, two couches, a giant plushy chair. A coffee table and two night stands. A few lamps and rolled up rugs. A giant mirror and a baby crib. Boxes and boxes, none of them labeled. My heart sank slightly. I don't know what I was expecting, but furniture definitely wasn't it.

"What? Someone swap your million dollar stash for a crib and a lazy boy?" Jackson teased from beside me.

I briefly turned to him with a begrudgingly amused expression. "Shut up." My hand absentmindedly ran through my hair, and I sighed. "I thought I knew everything I had to sell… This is going to take forever to go through."

Jackson looked into my storage unit and nodded. "I'll leave you to it, then. I need to go get a few things from my own unit."

I nodded without turning around as I dove headfirst into this pile of crap my mom decided to keep hidden from me.

* * *

About ten minutes later, I was ankle deep in old pictures, microwaves, coffee makers, hair driers, and bed sheets. I plopped down on the plush red chair and growled in exasperation. It's as if my mother packed up her old house, and then dumped it all in here. There isn't much that hints to her old life that I've seen. Plenty of baby stuff, some jewelry of hers that I'm glad to have, and photos. Lots, and lots of photos. As if she didn't keep enough of those. I curled up on the chair and started to shuffle through the pictures.

And then, like a farmer striking oil, the true history of my mother surfaced. My mother posing next to a "welcome to California" sign at a tender age, which is strange because she was born in Charming. My mother sitting in the living room of someone's house with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth and a handful of cards. My mother at her graduation with who I assumed were my grandparents. I froze when I happened across a picture of my mom, in her cap and gown, her hands resting on the shoulders of a man in a matching cap and gown as he lifted her triumphantly in the air. They both looked absolutely ecstatic, carefree, young… and he had my eyes. My heart caught in my throat and the other photos scattered onto the floor as I jumped up from the seat in shock.

Is this my father? Is this Clay!? I studied his face, his slightly too large head and his minute underbite. His broad jaw and strong nose. His sparkling blue eyes and easy grin. I slowly sunk back to the chair and my hand planted itself in my thick hair, my shocked eyes falling down to the scattered photos on the ground.

I saw another one. It was of my mother and this man, a few years later, leaning against a bike. He had his arm thrown over her shoulder, and her hand rested over his heart. She smiled up at him with complete adoration in her eyes, and he had a hand shoved in the pocket of his tight jeans as he smiled for the camera. The sleeves of his shirt were cut off, and his hair was the same curly blonde my hair was at around the age of five, before it transitioned to the dark color it presently is.

Another one of them by a lake, each holding their own fish. Another one of them sitting in a booth at a diner with a group of friends around them. Another one of them seated at the same bar I was sitting at hours ago, drinks in their hands, faces flushed with alcohol and mirth. And behind them was the grim reaper, beckoning to me from behind the bar. I snatched that picture up and flipped it over.

"Clay and Beth, February 1973". I lunged for the box where I had found the pictures, hungrily pawing though the mess before deciding to just dump it out. Amid the photos and mementos lay a bright blue journal. I froze, realizing that this journal belonged to my mother. Slowly, I sank toward the floor and picked the journal up and settled back on the chair.

_April 15, 1979_

_It's been another rainy day. I wanted to stay in for a lazy day at home with Clay, but he's so focused on the club these days. I miss him. All he wants to do is ride and hang around the club house. I can't help but feel like he's forgetting about us, like he's losing sight of…_

I stopped, flipping the page. It wasn't filled out every day, apparently she just wrote when she something bothered her.

_May 24, 1979_

_Sometimes he forgets himself, ya know? At least, that's what I have to tell myself. He's never been so angry with me before – but what am I supposed to think when he's coming in so late every night? What does that say? It says he's a two-timing, low life son of a bitch, that's what it says! I'm not blind!_

I smack the journal shut when I hear shuffling from the edge of the unit.

"Hey, you gonna use that crib?" Jackson was standing only a few feet away, and panic hazed my mind.

"_Shit!_" I yelped. He turned to me in alarm. "You – can't – when did you – you can't just barge in – I –" I sent a panicked, wild look down at the pictures scattered on the ground of my unit. I saw Jackson's eyes narrow suspiciously and tilt his head at me. He couldn't see the photos! Call it being overly cautious, call it being paranoid – but something told me that him finding out who Clay was to me would be unwise. At least not until after I knew more about Clay. I needed more information. _Especially_ after what I just read in my mom's journals. It was too soon.

I turned back to the chair and scooped up all the pictures, then bent over to gather the photos on the ground. I shoved those underneath them all and threw them haphazardly into their box. He loomed over me from behind and I tossed a blank black photo book on top, hiding Clay's youthful smiling face from his view.

"Whatcha got there?" He said, but there was something hidden in his voice. It was a tone he'd yet to use on me. I knew it was suspicion and distrust, just barely masked in a teasing ploy.

"Just …" I physically calmed my face and settled my voice, straightening up and locking eyes with him. "Some baby pictures."

He smirked and looked calmly at the box I shielded protectively with my arm. "Mhmm." He said quietly, obviously not believing me. "Must be pretty embarrassing."

"My mother was really into Elvis." I lied without missing a beat. "So if you think you've got embarrassing family pictures, you've got nothing on me."

He blinked, but let it go with a hollowly amused chortle as he turned back to the crib. "Oh, I don't know. I've got an impressive record. There was the period when I refused to wear clothes. _Lots _of streaking." He ran his hand down the gate of the crib and smiled mischievously. "But my mom had to put a stop to it when I ruined Thanksgiving last year."

A surprised laugh tore from my lips. It felt good to laugh. I grinned at him and shook my head. "Nope. I can top that."

He raised his eyebrow in a challenge. "Oh really?"

"Three words. Elvis Presley wig." I set the box down on the red chair as he barked out a laugh.

"Oh, no," he chuckled. "That's just wrong."

"For a school picture, to boot. Do you know how cruel kids can be? They were still making jokes at graduation!" I let my eyes glaze over and shook my head.

"Bobby would love that," Jackson said with a wistful grin, and at my questioning gaze he explained that Bobby was an Elvis impersonator. And apparently, he was fairly good at it. I tried to picture the rotund, curly haired man singing Love Me Tender and failed miserably.

"Really, though, are you gonna need this?" He asked, pulling me from my slightly disturbing, if amusing imagination.

I slightly frowned. "Uh, hadn't planned on it, no. Didn't even know it existed until about twenty minutes ago. Why?"

"My boy's due in two months. That's why I'm here, going through my storage unit. And this is a pretty nice crib, darlin'…" His smile dripped with sugar and I rolled my eyes at him.

"If you promise to never make that face again, that crib is yours."

He put a hand to his chest and faked a wound. "Oh, ouch! Harsh!"

"Yeah, yeah. Like you need anyone to pet your ego." I waved my hand at him. "You know, I didn't peg you for the fathering type."

He pursed his lips and looked back to the crib. "It wasn't exactly on purpose. I don't have a clue what I'm doin', I just… I feel responsible, ya know? We aren't together, the mom and I. We divorced last year, and…" He trailed off, and I sensed there was a lot more to the story. He shook his head. "Shit happens."

I cringed at his choice of words. I didn't know if I knew him well enough to give him advice, and it didn't seem like he was asking, so I kept my opinions to myself. But I've been that kid before. Hell, I _am_ that kid. Then again, what am I gonna say? _Oh, Clay felt the same way about me, I think. And look at me now._ No, those aren't exactly encouraging words. So I kept my thoughts to myself and told him he could have the crib.

He nodded. "I really appreciate it, darlin'. We had one in storage but it was looking a little worse for wear. Does one fifty sound fair?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Well, it doesn't have a mattress, so…"

"Still." He patted the crib. "The wood is beautiful. One fifty is a steal."

I sighed. "Just take it," I said, with a shrug. "No charge. Put it towards my repairs on my car, if you have to. I seriously won't be using it and otherwise it would go to a stranger."

Jackson was surprised and uncertain. "Really?" We had just met, and I could tell that's what he was thinking. "That doesn't seem fair."

I raised my eyebrows at him. "Are you really going to say no? Because I could use the cash, don't get me wrong..."

"That's a really nice offer," He said. "But it's too nice. Just take the cash, all right? I'll feel better about it."

I grinned affably. "Whatever you say."

He sighed and counted the money out of his wallet, and passed it over to me with a grin. With that out of the way, he said he had a few things to gather and we could head back. As he walked out, I went back to shove a few pictures into the journal and stowed it under my arm. I started to leave, but something held me back. I stopped at the threshold and turned to survey the unit.

Suddenly, I knew what I wanted. I went back and picked up the silver necklace I had been admiring earlier. There was a crescent shaped moon with a striking, blue gem in the middle of a pool of opal that dangled at the end, catching the light just the right way. I gently slid it into the box and turned to leave.

* * *

Jackson and I arrived at TM garage, and before we could even get off the bike, a woman with dark hair and strong blonde highlights came tearing across the lot. She was waving her hand frantically and yelling, "Jax! Jackson!"

Jackson, or _Jax_ now, met her halfway. I wondered just how many nicknames this man had. "What happened?" He asked.

"I tried to call you!" She panted, shoving her purse farther up her shoulder as she waved her phone in Jackson's face. "It's Wendy, I went to check on her like you said and the little druggie–"

"Where is she?" He asked, already jogging back to his bike.

"She's at the hospital!" The woman called, barely glancing at me before she was off again. I stood in the midst of it all, head darting back and forth between them like I was watching a tennis match. "We'll meet ya there, Jax!"

Thunder roared through the lot as Jackson peeled away, and the woman's jet black car silently zoomed closely behind him. Completely dumbfound, I turned back to the garage and saw Chibs striding across the lot.

"Hey," I started toward him and he turned, his face flickering with surprise when he saw me.

"Lizzie!" Chibs changed his route to me. "Where's Jax?"

"He –" I turned in the direction he had gone and stuttered for a moment. "Well, he… You know, I have no clue. Some woman came flying over to him like she was on fire and screamed something about Wendy being at the hospital. After that they just took off."

"Shite," He grunted, reaching out to my shoulder to steer me toward his bike. I hopped to match his pace and my box bounced and rattled in my arms. "C'mon, girl! I don't wanna leave you again, but this is bad."

"Oh, that's fine," I muttered absentmindedly. Chibs swung his leg over his bike and threw a helmet at me. I fumbled to catch it with my arms full. "Uh, Chibs…"

He simultaneously turned his bike on and turned to look at me. When his eye caught the box in my arms, he jerked in surprise as though he didn't realize it was there. "Hellfire, woman! Where'd ye get that?"

I looked down at the box and sheepishly said, "Uh, my storage unit. But can I, like, throw it in the bar? I'm sorry!"

"No, wait a second," He held his finger at me and stood from his bike. "Bobby!" He screeched, and the man in question stopped short of his bike to look at Chibs. "Would ya take that box from her? Wendy's in the hospital!"

"I know that, man!" Bobby threw his arms out and gestured wildly to the box in frustration.

"Oh, no, " I cut in, gripping the box tightly in my protective embrace. My heart raced at the thought of someone finding the pictures. "I just… I'll be back!" And with that, I sprinted across the parking lot to the garage, Chibs's confused voice chasing me all the way.

I threw the door open and ignored the surprised looks that were thrown my way. I hurried over to my car and tossed the box in the back, shoving it under the seats and slamming the door shut behind me. I scrambled back out and across the parking lot. Chibs growled something imperceptible at me, I suspect it wasn't English, and I caught the helmet as he threw it at me.

For some reason, I had no qualms with being behind Chibs on a bike. As I slid the helmet over my head and fastened the simple straps, he pulled out of the lot and his bike was so smooth that it felt as if we glided down the road. The sun had risen to its peak, so the wind was warm and pleasing on my skin. I curled my arms around Chibs's waist, watching the city as we went.

The pictures and journal I had found burned a hole in my mind. I mulled over what her last entry read, wondering what this _club_ that had stolen my father from my mom was all about. What kind of club could do that to a man? What kind of club could tear a marriage apart?

Unless it isn't a club at all. The nagging suspicion that had been eating at my mind finally forced itself to the front. I closed my eyes and fought it away. I would deal with this later. I would ask Chibs later. Or... I wouldn't. I wouldn't, and I would just leave. But would I really? Now that I was so close, now that I had seen my father's face? Been at his place of business? Could I really leave _now?_... Maybe.

The hospital came into view and my face grew hot as I realized I had rested my cheek against his back. He didn't seem to complain, though, so I figured I hadn't done anything wrong. Of all the people I had met today, Chibs was someone I could easily grow close to. We seemed to naturally click, and he was the only man I met and trusted so wholly in such a short amount of time.

He shut the bike off and I slid off. I worked at the strap as he stood. He turned his slightly amused dark eyes to me as I fiddled with the stupid thing. "What is this, a Chinese finger trap!? This thing is impossible!" I growled and yanked roughly. "It was so easy to put on, and now it's cemented to my head!"

He chuckled at me and came around the bike to my side, stopping just in front of me. He reached up to still my hands. I met his gaze and he silently shook his head at me, biting back some insult. His fingers expertly clicked the fastening and freed my chin. A crease formed between his eyebrows as his gaze caught on my chin, and he gently touched his finger there. I hurriedly tugged the helmet off and stepped back, suddenly eager to put distance between us. "Wha's that?" His Scottish brogue came out slightly low.

I cleared my throat and looked away. "I'm not the best with chin straps."

He smirked. "Duly noted."

I gently hit his arm at that slightly suggestive response, earning a shameless snicker from the man, and couldn't up but grin as I rolled my eyes and gestured toward the hospital. "You better get in there."

"Right." He led the way. When we got to the entrance, his hand found my shoulder again and he steered me to an elevator. I was stuck on trying to figure out how he knew where to go, and just before I asked the doors slid open and he stepped off. I trailed behind him and my gaze settled on Jackson. He stood very close to a woman with green scrubs, his face scrunched in concern as she explained something. I saw the woman from earlier hovering nearby, putting in a comment every now and then, and froze in my tracks when I saw him.

He was new; same kutte as the rest of the men, but he had a head full of short, spikey white hair and his red earrings glinted under the harsh lights in the hospital. He seemed to take up the whole hallway, not with his body, but with the way everyone regarded him and give him an extra bit of space. He had a head that was slightly too large, a minute underbite, and though his back was to me, I knew he'd have my eyes.

Finally, after having spent the whole day at his place of business and surrounded by his men, I had come face to face – or, face to _back_, rather – with my father. And I _so_ wasn't ready. I came to realize, as he turned to look at Chibs and Bobby, that I would never be ready. But that's one of those funny things about life. It waits for no one.

I took a deep breath and steeled myself as he turned around. His eyes went straight to his men, Bobby and Chibs, and he muttered something to them. Chibs said something back and greeted the woman nearby, calling her Gemma. It felt as though I was under water. I could see them talking, but I wasn't hearing a single thing. It wasn't until Jax stormed by me that I came back to myself.

I watched him stomp past, looking like a man out for blood, and everyone in the hall turned to see what had set him off. It was obvious something was happened and wherever he was headed, it wouldn't end nicely. Clay turned around and looked at Chibs and Bobby. "Watch his back," He said, knowingly, and the men exchanged a glance before following suit.

I reluctantly let my eyes fall on Clay to find he was already studying me. His mouth was slightly ajar, but it was his eyes that froze me in place. His eyebrows had glued themselves together as he studied me, his eyes squinted in calculation. He tilted his head slightly, pointing at me.

"Who're you?" And his _voice_. Oh god, it was so deep, I felt it rattle my bones. The hairs on my arms stood as he stepped closer. I saw from the corner of my eye as Gemma looked on with an expression of alarm and confusion, but I couldn't look away as Clay's gears turned in his head.

"Liz," I breathed before I even realized I was saying it. "I wrecked my car and…"

Clay looked at Gemma and they seemed to be thinking the same thing. Neither of them looked particularly thrilled as Clay looked at me again. "Liz, huh?"

* * *

"She's been hanging around, occupying herself all day. I felt too awful to let her fend for herself after that." He paused, considering his next words carefully, and kept his tone somewhat aloof as he said, "You two know each other?"

Clay blinked at me before he seemed to remember himself. "Ah… No, no. She just looks like someone I used to know."

I nearly stumbled back in shock. _No_?

"I was just gonna say that…" Gemma stepped up and had her piercing eyes jabbed in the side of my face. I could feel them as I gaped at Clay, wondering how in the world this _brute_ could miss his own flesh and blood standing right here before him.

"It's weird, huh?" Clay suddenly said with a dry amusement on his face, jabbing his thumb in my direction as he looked at Ms. Eyes of Steel. She raised a wry eyebrow and nodded her head.

"Weird would certainly fit the bill," She murmured, and I resisted the urge to push her face away. I didn't like the way she was looking at me.

"Uncanny," Clay decided, before finally shaking himself and turning back to Chibs. "Well, you can show Lizzie back to the garage. We'll hold the fort down here."

_Say something! _ My mind screamed at me. _Do it! This is what you've been waiting for! This is _why. you're. _here! _

But at the same time, some stubborn part of me felt that if he couldn't even realize who I was, if he wasn't willing to recognize what stared him right in the face…

I let Chibs take my wrist and tug me down the hallway. I let myself turn away from my father, the shock completely numbing me from what I wanted to say as I was dragged away. By the time I recovered and looked at Chibs, we stood outside by his bike again.

He looked at me expectantly again. "What?" I asked, breathlessly.

"Are you alright, Lizzie?" He looked me up and down. "Pardon the expression, but ya look like ya've seen a ghost."

I swallowed roughly. "I'm fine."

"Right…" He said slowly. "Let's getcha a drink. That always helps me."

"A drink." I repeated, blinking rapidly. "Sure."

I closed my eyes on the way back to the garage, my arms circled around his waist again. I rested my cheek against his back and let my shoulders relax. I still felt frozen. I think this is what shock feels like, because I don't feel much of anything, which can't be normal after something like that.

We stepped into the bar, Chibs at my shoulder, ever my guide that tethered me where I needed to be. I let myself be steered to the bar and slid absentmindedly on a barstool. He went around the bar and poured a glass for me.

I went over the meeting again and again. What I should've said, what I wished I'd said, how I should've acted. _First impressions are everything_, my mother reminded in my ear. Well, that's great. I tipped my glass back and squeezed my eyes shut, wincing at the burn that trickled down my throat.

I opened my eyes and focused on Chibs.

"Any good hotels around here?" I asked, and he poured his own drink.

"I was wondering that, as well." The amber liquid sloshed up the edge of his crystal glass. "Do ya have cash?"

"Uh, not really." I tilted my butt on my stool, working my wallet out of my back pocket. I held it up triumphantly and threw it on the counter. "Think I got like, fifty bucks. Will that cover it?"

He raised an eyebrow. "It would cover a lot of things, but I meant for a hotel room."

"Oh." I'd take that as a resounding _no_. I took another swig. "Do you happen to have an ATM in this place?"

He smirked. "I'll tell you what I do have," He took a drink of his own glass.

"Is it an ATM?" I teased.

"Better."

I slammed my glass down and dropped my jaw. "You have tickets to a Red Hot Chili Peppers concert?!"

He scrunched his face up. "Fuck no."

"Oh." I shrugged. "Worth a shot."

"You _like_ that psychedelic shite?" His voice dripped with disdain, and I reared back and pressed a hand to my chest.

"You take that back," I gasped, and he smiled.

"I most certainly will not!" He jabbed a finger in the counter. "Will you focus?

"I'm sorry, I'm finding that hard to do through the haze of insult and shock you just threw at me," I feigned overdramatic offense, pretending to clutch at a set of imaginary pearls.

"Lizzie, you have no place to stay tonight. You know that, right?"

"It's Liz." I corrected automatically, not taking him seriously at all. "Doesn't that get tiring?" I suddenly leaned closer to him and he blinked in surprise. "Oi, Lizzie," I mocked in an awful Scottish accent. "Will you help me lead my men into battle, so can we tell our enemies… that they may take our lives," I perched up on the barstool, "but they'll never take, **_our freedom!_**"

He threw his head back and let out a bellowing laugh. "William Wallace!" He guffawed. "That's the best ya've got!? That had him rollin' in 'is grave! That was just pathetic."

"Aye, and we've no need for mongr-r-rels and their r-r-radical ideas. Off with ya now! Off with ya!" I continued, hopping in my seat as I stuttered.

"I dunnai even recognize that one," Chibs shook his head and rose his glass to me.

I slapped my hand to my forehead. "How am I supposed to insult you if you don't even know my references?"

"Tha's not my problem." He finished off his glass and poured another.

"Lady and the Tramp," I grumbled, pouting as I swirled my drink. "I was quoting the Scottish terrier."

"Disney?" He hmphed at me, his accent incredibly thick now that we were so focused on it.

I shook my head sadly. "You sound just like him when you say that." I tipped my glass back and finished it off, determined to keep up with him. "If you can call me Lizzie," I pointed at him with my empty glass. "I can call you Jock."

"Please," He shook his head and filled my glass. "I dare ya."

"I dare ya," I mocked, and he squinted at me. "Come at me, Jock!" I pounded my chest and he smirked slowly.

"Don't tempt me," He warned.

I purposefully cleared my throat and slid off my stool. He watched me with confused eyes as I stood in front of him, my drink sloshing out slightly as I held my arms out.

"Do your worst, Scottie," I turned my back to him and walked toward the pool table. "I'll whoop your ass from here to Edinburgh, and _back_."

"Those are big words for a yuppie who can't even work a chinstrap," He loudly challenged, his eyes sparkling with the influence of alcohol as he came around the bar.

I mulled over the pool sticks and picked one as I ignored him. "You break." I tapped the green on the table. He set his glass down on the edge of the table and began to pull the pool balls from the pockets. I emptied my own glass and slid it next to his. I handed him the red wooden rack, and his fingers brushed mine as he took it.

"So what was with you and Clay's wicked stare down earlier?" He casually asked, carefully arranging the pool balls. I cleared my throat and swept the hair out of my face.

"What, that? He must have thought I was someone else." I brushed the ground with my toe and he paused to raise a skeptical eyebrow at me. "What?"

"I've never seen him mistake a face before."

"There's a first time for everything," I shrugged. "A deer jumped through my windshield today." He smirked. "I've never even _seen_ a deer up close before today, and then _that_."

The door of the clubhouse burst open. Through it strutted Jackson, and he must have heard at least part of what I said, because he called out, "We're still on that?" Bobby followed soon after Jackson.

"It was a big deal!" I defended, crossing my arms. "He bled all over me! And wrecked my car. Speaking of, where is that thing?"

"The car?" Chibs clarified.

I waved him off. "The deer! The deer, where is the bleedin' deer?"

Bobby snickered at my imitation of a Scottish accent and Jackson answered my question. "I dunno. I told Half-Sack to take care of it. In a dumpster rotting somewhere, I guess."

I nodded as if this made perfect sense, being that I had no alternative ideas for how to properly dispose of a deer carcass. "He should've let me at it with that chainsaw," I mumbled, and Chibs grinned at me.

"Oh?" He threw the rack on a nearby table and grabbed a pool stick. "I can't quite picture that one."

"Yeah, you don't seem the carvin' type." Bobby piped in, taking a swig of beer. He handed one to Jackson. A skinny blonde girl was stuck on Bobby's side, whispering something in his ear, and he had his arm latched across her back, grabbing a handful of ass. I did my best not to gag at that.

"Trust me." I let my lip curl in distaste, though the men didn't know it was at Bobby's gropey hands. "I can get my hands dirty if I want to."

"Oh, ho, ho!" They chorused, Tig wiggling his eyebrows as he popped up from the ground. Just kidding, but he basically did, because I didn't see hide nor hair of him until I made that innuendo.

"Care to demonstrate," He purred, reaching for my waist. I snapped my pool stick down against his knuckles. He pulled back, hissing with his teeth. Chibs and Bobby guffawed at this, Bobby pulling the blonde closer as he did so. "Damn!" Tig shook his hand. "Someone likes it rough. But I have good news," He winked at me and stepped closer. "So do I."

"That's nice," I smiled a sickly sweet smile at him and placed the end of my pool stick against his chest. Pushing him backwards, I tilted my head and said, "Go creep on someone else who cares."

He backed up, palms in the air, and rubbed his chest as if I had actually hurt him. "Mean," He pouted, and went off to lick his wounds.

I turned to Chibs with a wry look. "Too much?"

He waved me off. "He'll find a crow eater to make it better."

"A what?" I scrunched my face up.

"You gonna break this thing, or just pace around it?" Jackson cut in, sending Chibs a harsh look. I raised my eyebrow and Chibs blinked sheepishly.

"Righto, Jackie Boy. Righto. Seems the scotch's gone to me head again." He leaned down to position his cue, and I made a face.

"You've had like, two glasses."

He ignored me and deliberately made the pool balls crack just as I commented, so that they stole my voice from the room.

"Mean," I pouted, mocking Tig. An almost invisible smirk pulled at Chibs' mouth, and I turned to find my ball. I picked one that seemed bad, but aimed my cue so that it would knock against a different one, which would knock against a _different _one, which would send two into the pocket.

Unfortunately, even the most meticulously planned ideas go awry, and though the first ball did hit its target, I gave the cue too much gas. The ball skidded over its destination and bounced up, sailing straight into the glasses of scotch just as Chibs reached for it. He yanked his hand back at the last second with a curse and the glasses went crashing to the ground.

My back cracked because I straightened so fast, and my cue clattered to the ground as I threw my hands over my surprised mouth. Everyone near the table fell silent, gaping at the travesty that just happened, and Chibs turned his wide eyes to me.

"Joseph and Mary!" He exclaimed. "What the hell was that!?"

"That," I blinked. "Did not go as planned…"

"Ya _think_?" He threw his hand down to the ruined glasses and my retort was stolen as Clay blew through the doors. The entire club house quieted as he glided through.

"Church!" He stated, not even having to raise his voice to be heard. I frowned in confusion as Juice and the rest of the men in the room dropped what they were doing to follow him. An unfamiliar, hulking, lumber-jack of a man in a beanie stalked past. I watched him go, eyeing his kutte as he went. Yet another member of this so called _club. _Chibs dropped his arms with a heavy sigh.

"Right. Get one uh those over there to clean this mess," He pointed to a corner of women and I opened my mouth to apologize. "We'll finish the game when I'm back, Lizzie."

I watched him dumbly as he followed the rest of the men into a doorway and closed the giant wooden doors behind him.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, I had been properly bitched out by the women in the corner and forced to clean the mess myself. I had also finished half a bottle of Jack. My head felt as though it was gonna float off, and I took it upon myself to explore a bit more.

The music swept over me and set my mood as I strolled along the nearly empty floor, ignoring the daggers that the women in the corner kept throwing me with their eyes. I took in all the pictures as I went around. Hell, the walls were spectacularly covered in them, and I smiled at some of the pictures from the men in war at some far off country, while I scowled at the ones of women in varying states of dress perched on varying kinds of bikes and the like. I flicked one of said pictures and looked around to see if anyone watched as I slyly skated it underneath a nearby book case.

I touched the spines of the books as I walked past, smiling at their titles and authors. Some surprisingly deep shit, the books in this clubhouse. I stopped to gape at a wall of photos. It seemed like a memoir, and I soon realized that's exactly what it was. The faces of all the men I had met today stared at me – or should I say, their _mugshots_ stared at me. They seemed to feel the need to commemorate the first time they'd been arrested, I realized as I gawked at Chibs's incredibly handsome youthful face looking back at me like he knew something I didn't.

The doors of the "church" burst open behind me. A few more strangers had found their way in the bar, and they all raucously greeted the men as they flooded the clubhouse.

Chibs came out with his arm around Juice's neck. He finished up their conversation with a rough pat and his eyes scanned the clubhouse, starting at the pool tables. He didn't find whatever he was looking for – or rather, _who_ever – because he continued scanning until his eyes fell on me. I glanced from him to Clay as Clay and Bobby approached the bar. He followed my meaningful gaze and raised his eyebrows high before making his way toward me. I rolled my eyes and shook my head at his silent accusation. He tilted his head and gave me a skeptical side-eye, and I tilted my head and glared at him.

He smirked and stopped in front of me. I braced for him to ask about Clay again. "Did ya decide pool wasn't your kinda game after all?"

I breathed in relief and let the bottle in my hand slosh. "I most certainly did not! Those balls were greased."

He threw his head back and erupted in a long laugh. "They were not!"

I sniffed. "I dunno. They slid _awfully_ easy. If it weren't for that, I would've kicked your ass by now."

"Are ya willing to bet on tha'?" He challenged, leaning forward.

I put my hands out, circling him, never breaking eye contact, until I was near the pool tables again. I walked backwards and shook my head. "Bring it on, Jock! I'm not afraid."

"Oh, sure." He smirked. "Ya gonna bet all fifty?"

I pursed my lips and traded my cue for a new one. "Nah, I'm not dumb. How about we make it interesting?"

"Pray tell," He grinned, snatching up his old cue and grinding the bright blue chalk onto the tip.

I took a swig of my drink. "If I win, you let me crash at your place." He raised his eyebrows. "And I get the bed!"

"And if I win?" He leaned against his cue.

"If you win, you get to… have me crash at your place." I snorted, then quickly waved my hand to shake that thought away. "No, I'm joking! If I win, I'll tell you my big ole _secret_." He perked up.

"About?" He leaned closer, jerking his head toward Clay, and I smirked. "I knew it!" He pointed at my face and jammed a fist in the air. "I fuckin' knew tha'!"

"You know nothing." I slurred, waving my hand again. "You just think you do."

"Sure, sure." He leaned down and made the first shot. His ball went straight into the pocket, and I puffed my lips out.

"That was a lucky shot." I decided, and he raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Luck of the –"

"DUNNAI!" He hollered, pointing his cue in my face. "Finish. That. Sentence."

I let out a giddy laugh. "Irish."

He roared, dropping his cue and lunging for me. I screech in surprise and darted out of his grasp, running around the other side of the table. He hollered something at me that was indistinguishable. Pretty sure it was in Scottish. "Don't talk to me in that leprechaun language!" I screeched, jabbing an accusing finger at him. Some of the people in the bar let out surprised laughs at that, and this added fuel to the fire. He came around the other side of the table with renewed haste.

Those who had been listening were laughing at us as we darted around the table. "Hey!" I came to an abrupt stop, gripping the table opposite Chibs, and he stopped as well. "Truce! Truce, truce, truce!" I went to pretend to throw out a white flag, but when I flung my arm up and took a step I lost my balance. The floors offered no purchase, and my hand lamely smacked the edge of the pool table as I landed flat on my ass.

I couldn't control the giggles that were bubbling from me. Chibs face hovered over me as he perched on the table. "I'm comin' after ya," He growled, and this intensified my laughing. I struggled to catch my breath as he lowered himself, squeaking out a request for him to Riverdance for us while he was at it. I dissolved in giggles as he fell beside me. I tried to roll away, going under the table, and he swiped at my ankle. I squeaked and grabbed at the cardboard box that was conveniently stashed under the table. It took some effort, but just as he latched onto my ankle, the box thudded heavily against his stomach.

"_Oof_!" He wheezed, and the box popped open. "What the –" he grunted, pushing at the box as something spilled out. I gasped as my eye caught sight of an antler.

"Oh, god," I said, and Chibs latched onto an antler and tugged.

"What the _fuck_," He choked out as the head of the dead deer stuck its swollen tongue out at us. I let out a screech and scrambled backwards, hitting my head on the table.

"What the _hell_ is that?" Clay boomed, coming from nowhere. A crowd followed behind him.

"That's mine!" Half-Sack and I chorused as he pushed through the crowd.

I looked up at him with wide eyes and something clicked. Chibs poked me with a disbelieving finger, and I let my eyes shut and my head fall back as I realized what was happening. "That's his," I corrected with dread. "That's definitely his. Is _this _why you asked me to keep it!?"

"Well, yeah!" He reached down to tug the deer up from Chibs's grasp. "I thought we could, ya know, mount it on the wall."

The crowd laughed and hollered at him. Bobby barked out, "Are you out of your god damn mind?!"

"I thought it would be a nice decoration!" He loudly defended.

"You gotta stuff it first, dumb ass." Jackson rubbed his face in exasperation, sounding exhausted with by whole event.

"Yeah, I _know_ that!" Half-Sack snapped. He glanced away. "…Stuff it with what?"

Chibs and I groaned as I shoved the box away from him. "Your mom's chest hair!" I hollered at Half-Sack, earning a surprised bark of laughter from several people, including Clay. Clay shook his head at Half-Sack and rolled his eyes at Bobby. Half-Sack seemed all at once embarassed, admonished, and frankly – like he still thought the deer was a good idea.

This impression was confirmed when he went to retreive the box and followed after the guy I thought to be named Juice, asking him how exactly he was expected to stuff the deer head. Chibs pushed himself up and held his hand out to me, which I accepted. He tugged up, and I swayed slightly on my feet. I pressed my hand to my head.

"Whoa," I laughed breathily. "Head rush."

"No," Chibs said, putting his hand on my shoulder. "Yer shitfaced."

"Well, yeah." I said frankly. "Oh!" I chirped. "I've got to show you something."

He frowned at me and I didn't notice as Clay and Bobby watched me tug him from the clubhouse. He gave them a shrug and waved them off. The night air washed over us. A crowd had gathered around a boxing ring, and Happy and Tig were stripping out of their shirts. They talked shit as they gathered themselves into the ring. I guided Chibs past the crowd and to the garage.

"What are ya doin', Lizzie?" He asked, his hand tightening on mine.

I didn't turn around as I said, "Showing you something." The door swung shut behind us, covering us in total blackness. I froze and turned around on my heels in the dark, trying to find the light switch. "Say, where are the lights in this joint?" He slid his hand out of mine and went to flip the lights on.

"Ahhh," I smiled and walked to my car. "And she said, 'Let there be light!' And there was light. And it was good." The door squealed in protest as I opened it, and Chibs watched curiously as I dug the stashed box out from under the seat. "You didn't get to go with me today," I explained. "To the storage unit. I found some stuff."

His mouth popped open in understanding. "Ohhh," He nodded. "Aye, gotcha now."

"It was mostly furniture, so you didn't miss a whole lot. 'Cept, Jackson almost killed me on his bike." I rambled as I dug through the box to find what I was looking for. Chibs raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

"He did?" He said flatly, clearly unconvinced.

"Oh yeah. But, it's okay. I hit him a bunch, so we're even. But then I gave him a crib, so, I guess he owes me."

Chibs frowned. "Right," He agreed, as if he understood. My head swam with alcohol as my fingers closed over the cool chain in the dark. I licked my dry lips and peeked out from the car, resting the box in my lap as I leaned over.

The chain glinted in the light as I held it out for him to see. "But I found this."

Chibs reached out and lightly grasped the moon. He let out a low whistle, kneeling in front of me. "Tha's really pretty, lass. It suits you."

"Yeah." I slurred, scooting closer to him. "S'uh, _family_ heirloom," I conceded, testing the phrase out for the first time in my life. I had never had much family to speak of. Up to now, my only family was basically my mom, and she was alive, so there wasn't much to call heirloom. Now? I had more than I knew what to do with. Even through the haze of alcohol, I knew better than to say it was my mother's. Heirloom was good and vague. Chibs, bless him, easily accepted this poor explanation.

"Is _this_ your secret?" He asked.

I peered up at him with wide eyes, the reminder of Clay stealing my focus away. I was suddenly humbled. "No," I whispered. A crease formed between his eyebrows, and he studied my face. I bit my lip and looked down at the necklace, clutching the chain tightly in my fist. "I can't tell you my secret. I can't tell anyone my secret."

He raised an eyebrow. "Because it's a secret?" He said dryly, a stark contrast to my childlike admission.

I followed his lead. "Precisely." I patted his head once, and reached back to fasten the chain. Much like with the chinstrap, I fumbled slightly. He grabbed the box from my lap and set it on the ground beside us. He told me to turn around.

I backed up, tucking my feet under my butt and scooting forward so I could turn around on the seat. I felt his fingers brush my neck as he picked the chain up, but just as soon as they were there, they were gone again. The cool metal tickled my neck as I held my hair out of the way. He worked it for a second before dropping it. It sank down the back of my shirt. I tugged the medallion and straightened it out so it wasn't choking me or stuck down the back of my shirt.

I turned back on the seat with a sigh and he backed up so I could climb out of the car. "Thanks, Chibs." I swayed slightly and patted his cheek. "You're too good to me."

He winked and bent down to pick up my box. "Only for you, Lizzie."

I took the box from his arms and blew the hair out of my eyes. "Can I crash at your place?"

He waggled his eyebrows. "If ya insist,"

I rolled my eyes. "Keep it in your pants, Jock. I believe I get the bed, by the way," I said as I walked back to the door.

He snorted. "Nuh-uh! Yuh've won nothin'!"

"Yeah," I asserted. "I just told you a secret."

"Wrong, again!" He corrected, wagging his finger at me as he flicked the lights off. I shifted the box in my arms and waited for him to open the door. "You told me nothin'," he said in my ear.

I screeched and swung the box at him. It hit his stomach and he let out a whoosh of air. "Don't _do _that!" I hollered, and he shuffled to the door.

Light spilled into the garage as he swung it open. "Duly noted," he grumbled.

We walked into the night, past the boxing boys and over to his bike.

"Can I ditch the box if I put all this in your saddlebag?" I toed the top of said saddlebag, and he reached down to flip it open.

"If it can fit, you can take it." He plucked up the helmet from the bag and I emptied the contents of my box into the snug compartment, careful to keep the pictures safely hidden in the black album.

"Thanks," I said for the zillionth time that day. I took the helmet from him and tugged it over my head, clicking the chinstrap into place.

He raised his eyebrows at me. "Thought ya said yer bad at that?"

"Okay, I'm bad at taking it _off,_" I amended with a finger in the air. He pursed his lips and nodded.

Swinging his leg over his bike, I perched on the seat behind him as he brought the bike to life. It let out a pleasant roar, gently growling in the night as he revved the engine.

We slowly left the parking lot, waving at the club members as we went. When we pulled onto the street, I slid my arms around him and rested my cheek on his back. The events of the day caught up with me and I let my eyes slide shut.

Consciousness slid away from me as the night air cooled my thoughts with its pleasant fingers running through my hair. I tightened my arms around Chibs and let the bike sing me to sleep.

What felt like moments later, the engine cut. I drearily lifted my cheek from his back and slid my arms off of his waist to rub my eyes. Pulling myself to my feet, I dismounted the bike after Chibs. I weakly tugged at the chinstrap, and, like last time, he stilled my hands. Quicker than I could've hoped to, he had the helmet off my head and traded the album I brought for the helmet in his saddlebag. I tucked the album against my chest.

His fingers pressed against the back of my shoulder as he steered me up the drive to his front door. He unlocked the door, and his hand touched my shoulder briefly to signal me to enter. He flipped the lights on and let me amble slowly through his simple living room.

I saw two large couches and a recliner gathered around a flat screen through the haze of my drowsiness. Pictures teased me from the walls, but I couldn't take the time to study them as he opened the door to another room down a hallway. He pushed me through it and I set the album down on the nightstand as I kicked my shoes off and collapsed against his bed. I was asleep before my head hit the pillow, the door clicking shut softly behind me.

* * *

_**What's the verdict? Jax or Chibs? Chibs or Jax? How about that intro to Clay? What will happen next? *Mystical mysterious fingers* Ooooo, What Will Happen Neeexxxt? **_

_***edited to fix a spelling error.**_


	5. Chapter 5

**_Hello, my lovelies! This is a rather brief update, but I wanted to give you guys something to tide you over to tomorrow night because I'll be really busy today. I'll get more to you tomorrow! Until then, enjoy..._**

* * *

After everything that's happened to me, there's one thing I can say I learned about life. It changes slowly. Much like a leak that springs in a dam, the change creeps in undetected and slowly spreads, growing from a small trickle to a large crack, until finally…

As my eyes open and settle on the unfamiliar ceiling ahead of me, I can't help but feel with a certainty in my bones that there's no recovering from this. I cannot undo what's been done this week, or un-meet the people I've met. I cannot un-see what I've seen, or un-know what I know now. I can never return to the life I used to live, ignorant and sleeping. Because now I'm awake. The dam has burst, and the waters of my past are long gone, lost to the sea of time. I can't even remember what it felt like to laugh with my mom.

That probably has something to do with the fact that she was sick for a few months before she finally couldn't take any more. There wasn't much to laugh about near the end. Not for us.

Suddenly, lying in the bed with these thoughts staining my mind, I couldn't sit still for another minute. I pushed myself from the plush mattress and untangled my legs from the sheets. My shirt – or, Chibs's, rather, had freed itself from where it was tucked safely down the front of my shorts in the night. It fit me more like a night gown than a shirt, but I couldn't bring myself to care. I still had a pair of shorts on underneath.

I padded out of his bedroom, down the dark hallway and made my way back to his living room. The morning light was just starting to tickle the sky, coaxing a slate gray to spread across the inky horizon. My eyes flickered from the couch that rested the wall opposite to me, which was empty, to the plush chair, also empty, and finally rested on the beige couch in front of me. I tiptoed forward and peeked over the edge.

Chibs had an arm thrown over his face and slept with his legs spread eagle on the couch, one of his feet dragging the ground. I smirked at his peaceful form as he slept. I decided not to wake him, opting to instead hunt out a bathroom.

The hall that led through the opposite side of the room opened to a kitchen, but just before that laid a doorway with a bathroom in it. I closed the door as softly as possible and flicked the light switch.

When I approached the mirror I winced at my absurd bed head and stripped from my day-old clothes. It only took a brief moment for me to figure out the controls of the shower, and I let out a satisfied breath as the steaming water poured down my back.

By the time I had finished and scrubbed my teeth with my finger and some toothpaste, I emerged from the steaming bathroom a little bit more human. Morning had broken over the horizon, and I could see Chibs's face clearly now as the light spilled over his still body. I felt a nagging itch that hadn't hit me since last Christmas morning, and I turned to put his kitchen to proper use.

Thirty minutes later, Chibs came shuffling into the kitchen. He rubbed his eyes and grumbled something to himself. "What in Christ's name are ya doin'?" His voice was thick with sleep, and I couldn't keep the grin off my face.

"Thought I'd pay my dues," I stated simply, flipping a stack of pancakes onto a plate and sliding it across the counter to him.

"Ya didn't need to do anythin'," he muttered. His dark eyes sparkled as he followed his nose to the plate. "Christ, that smells like sex."

I scrunched my face up. "Not quite."

He smirked. "Did ya happen tuh find the coffee maker?"

I wordlessly slid a mug across the counter to him as he cut into one of his steaming pancakes with sleep tinged eyes. I dropped my chin on my fists and watched his reaction as he bit into the first piece. This is the best part.

"Unnnff," He groaned. "What corner of heaven do ya hail from, woman? S'fuckin amazing." I could barely understand his garbled words as he shoveled forkfuls of the pancakes into his mouth.

Satisfied, I pushed away from the counter, grabbed my own plate, and came around the counter to join him. "I was raised in a restaurant. The most stubborn, nosy, talkative, moody woman you will ever meet runs a little diner in the town I'm from. After I finished my homework, I'd mix batter or whatever she needed." I paused to pop a piece of the fluffy pancake in my mouth. "At the time I kind of felt like it was punishment – a plan that she and my mother devised to keep me out of their hair… Guess I picked up a few things along the way. I will say this; she makes the best lemon bars from here to the east coast."

He clicked his teeth. "Never quite grew used to the taste uh those things."

"Oh," I pityingly shook my head at him. "That's because you've never had Mart's special recipe. To this day, I've got no fuckin' clue what she uses – but I could lick a pan of those clean."

He grunted at me in response and continued to clear his plate. I peeked at his dark hair that had taken on a life of its own in the night and resisted the urge to smooth it down or tease him about it. I turned back to my plate and focused on finishing my food. "What's the plan for today?"

"Not much uh one," He stood from his stool and dumped his plate into the sink. The faucet squeaked slightly as he flipped the nozzle. "But at some point I'll have to go to the garage. Some rocket killed a deer with her windshield yesterday." He peeked sly brown eyes at me. "Now I've a helluva mess ta clean."

"Har, har," I mockingly patronized. "That's actually really convenient. I've gotta give Jackson that crib before I leave, but if I wait around on this lazy mechanic I hired to finish my car first, his kid'll have to sleep on the floor." I ducked as he splashed dishwater at me, but I wasn't quick enough. The front of his black Henley was unpleasantly soaked against my skin. I curled my lip in distaste and peeled it away from my chest. "Probably, I had that coming," I narrowed my eyes at his smirk. "I don't suppose you have another one of these lying around?"

"I dunno," He shrugged a shoulder and turned back to his dishes. "I think that fits ye just fine. Might be an improvement, if ya ask me."

I looked down at the black fabric that was plastered against my skin. "I'll just go find one myself." I was already off the stool when he turned his chuckling face to me.

"Third drawer on the left!" He hollered. I made my way back to his bedroom and gently toed the door open, rummaging through the instructed drawer. I spotted a rather small blue cut-off that was rolled up in the corner and pinched it between my fingers. The fabric rustled like plastic, but as I stroked the cotton I knew that the sound it made and the fabric that I felt didn't quite match. I shook the shirt out and a bag of weed plopped against the carpet.

A shit eating grin spilled across my face. I strolled back into the kitchen and dropped the bag in front of Chibs as he dried his hands on a dish towel.

"Tha's _not _a shirt." He pointed out, raising a dark eyebrow.

I smiled sweetly at him. "This would really hit the spot after those pancakes."

He tilted his head, considering my words for a second before he caught himself. "I'd love to. Really. But I have work, and you've got a baby crib."

I jutted my bottom lip out. "Really? Responsibilities, or," I picked up the bag and dangled it in his face. I shrugged with fake nonchalance and leaned against the counter beside him. "I guess we _could_ go straight to work. You could work on a bloodied car, deer guts everywhere, who knows what Half-Sack left behind when he cut the deer out... I could ride with Jackson to storage and lift that heavy ass crib into the back of some truck… Or…" my eyes slid to meet his and I smiled before he even said anything, knowing I had just won that argument.

Sometime later, we sat in the smoke filled kitchen. Chibs was perched on the countertop and I sat on the floor in front of his black stove, staring at the glass. I waved my hand in wide circles front of the reflection, eyes wide, and squinted at the pictures that came back at me.

A deep giggle erupted from above me. I sat up and looked up to the ceiling in wonder. "Who's there?" I called, and a hand shot over the edge of the counter to wave at me. My eyes grew wider and I gasped. "_God_?... Is that you?" My heart raced at this revelation. I'm seeing God! Holy shit! God is waving at me! I timidly waved back in awe.

Chibs busted out laughing so loud, he nearly rolled off the counter. I smiled at him - even when he laughed he had an accent - and realized what I had said. I smacked a hand to my forehead and giggled. "That…" He managed through his rolling laughter. "Was priceless. Yer… such a light weight." He wiped at his eyes and passed me a new joint. I couldn't recall exactly how many we'd gone through.

I pinched it between my fingers. "Hey, c'mere." I waved my hand and scooted over, patting the ground next to me. "Look at this, you gotta see it!"

He flipped over the counter and crawled to the spot next to me, his feet in front of him. I threw my hand over his shoulder and set the joint down on the ground next to us. "Look," I whispered, waving my hand in front of the glass. The distorted reflection of us waved back. I did it again. He tilted his head. "Do you see it? I think someone's playing a film in there." Chibs hummed in wonder and watched as I pressed my nose against the glass to get a better look.

"Smells like grass in here," A deep voice said above us. "What the fuck? Oh, Jesus." We turned to see Bobby pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Bobbyyyy!" Chibs hollered, clambering to greet his friend. "Look, Liz, it's Bobby!"

I smiled so wide I felt like my cheeks were gonna slide off my face. Or maybe that's the drugs. At any rate, Chibs had just called me Liz instead of _Lizzie, _and that felt nice. "Hey, Bobbsy!"

Chibs let out a hissing laugh and poked Bobby's cheek. "D'ja hear that, brother? She called ya _Bobbsy_," he shook his head and breathed out. "That's not a name, Liz."

I masked my face with seriousness and turned to Chibs. "Tha's _Ms. Lizzie _tuh you, bub."

His eyes nearly popped out of his head. "Heyyy." He looked at me like I had just grown another head. "That sounded _just_ like me. D'ja hear –"

"Yeah, yeah, I heard!" Bobby snapped. Chibs and I wheeled around to look at him. "Man, we don't have time for this! Clay needed us."

"Dude, he's harshin' our mellow," I whispered behind my hand, jabbing my finger in Bobby's direction. I smirked and dropped the whisper. "I always wanted to say that."

"What's takin' so long, guys?" Said a voice that sounded like a chainsaw growling at us. I hopped behind the counter just as Happy stalked through the door of the kitchen.

"Oh, my god!" I hissed, dramatically gesturing to Happy from behind the counter. Chibs frowned at me, and Bobby just looked like he wanted to smack the both of us. I wildly shushed them even though they weren't saying anything. "That guy is _so scary_…"

"Oh," Happy realized from the other side of the counter. "I get it. These two are stoned out of their minds, aren't they?" He phrased it like a question, but said it like a fact.

"Oh my god!" I gasped, for the millionth time that morning. "How did he figure that out!?"

Bobby rubbed his face in exasperation. "What the hell do we do now?" While he and Happy seriously discussed their options, I plucked something up from the ground and calmly approached them. They mostly ignored me until I held it out to them. Happy barked out an actual laugh as I offered them the joint.

Bobby gawked at me like I was crazy. To my surprise, Happy looked between Bobby and the joint for a split second – barely even hesitating – before he grabbed it from my fingers and took a long hit from it. Chibs let out a deep laugh of appreciation and clapped Happy on the back. "Yeahhh, brother!" He cheered.

Bobby opened his mouth to protest, but I cut him off. "Please," I gestured to Happy, who somehow still managed to look grim through the haze of drug-induced-chill, and said, "If The Hound can take a hit, _you _can take a hit."

Happy hiccupped slightly on the smoke, pausing to exhale with a frown. "Who the fuck is The Hound?"

My jaw dropped. I looked from blank face to blank face around me. "Oh, _come on_! The Hound!... From Game of Thrones?..." The men all stared back at me. "You are so lucky you met me. First chance we get, you're all experiencing that cinematic maptersiece! M-mapter … maspter… mashter shpiece. Master-piece?"

The men all indulged a shrug to each other before Chibs said, "Anyway! Lass, could you whip up any more of those pancakes?"

I grumbled to myself and turned to the cabinets. "Which one is the one with the flour again?"

Chibs opened his mouth and hesitated. Finally, he said, "Huh. I dunno!"

Happy bellowed out a laugh and slapped his knee. "He doesn't even know where his own flour is at! Dumb ass!" He chuckled, pointing to Chibs. I laughed along with him, and Chibs managed to look offended for two more seconds before he broke out in giggles.

Bobby groaned and took an unlit joint from beside the baggie on the counter. "I refuse to be the only sober one here," He griped.

* * *

Happy and Bobby were passed out on the couches. I lounged in front of the television, singing quietly to myself. Chibs was sitting the chair dozing. "Hey," I whispered, and Chibs's snores cut out abruptly. He drearily blinked at me and then rubbed his eyes. "Do you…" My throat swelled slightly. "What was Scotland like?"

His eyebrows creased together. "It t'was… a whole other lifetime ago." I looked away and hummed in agreement. The springs of the recliner squeaked slightly as he rose from the chair to join me on the floor. I scooted over slightly to make more room and swallowed my emotions down. "Why d'ya ask?"

"Oh," I cleared my throat. "I just got homesick."

His face softened and he patted my hand where it rested against my stomach. "I'll get yer car finished soon, darlin'. Half-Sack is probably workin' at it as we speak."

I snorted and said, dryly, "How reassuring. But honestly, it's just a childish thing I do sometimes. I can't actually go back."

He cast me a puzzled look and opened his mouth. "Shit!" Bobby sputtered from the couch. "We gotta go!" Happy snored contentedly on the couch opposite him. Bobby grabbed the pillow out from beneath his head as he sat up and chucked it square at Happy's face. The rough man let out a slobbering growl as he lurched up from the couch and shook his disoriented head, looking around Chibs's living room in rage. "Up and at 'em, Sunshine! It's time to rock and roll."

I turned to Chibs as the men roused themselves and made their way to the door. "You, too, Chibs! You gotta meet Clay over at –" Bobby came up short and his eyes flickered to me. I raised my eyebrow at him as we rose to join him at the front door. "I'm gonna miss the show. We need to scoot, now. Clay's probably already pacing as it is."

We stepped into the night air, which tickled my arms with its chill. The Henley had indeed been traded for the blue cut-off when Chibs and I first indulged ourselves, and my bare arms were covered in goosebumps as we rode. As we made our way to the garage, I closed my eyes and rested my cheek against Chibs' back. The buzz was still affecting me, but only slightly. I admit that it surprised me how much time had passed from when the boys joined us, to when we left the house. I vaguely remembered a lot of dancing and laughing, some shots of something nonalcoholic that still burned my mouth, and a moment of running around the outside of his house in naught but my undies stuck out particularly well. I had a rogue string of images - Happy wearing a t-shirt around his head and laughing at me, Bobby doing an impressive Elvis impression, and Chibs calling me Liz a lot. This brought a small smile to my mouth as I futilely tried to piece the day together.

The men all seemed to rush around as they scrambled off their bikes and toward the bar. I followed more slowly behind them, wondering what to do with myself.

"Juicey!" Chibs barked as we spilled inside. The man in question had earbuds stuffed in his ears, his head bobbing in time with whatever music played as his fingers flew over a laptop. Chibs grumbled to himself in exasperation and strode over to him, smacking the back of his head.

Juice choked on air and snatched the earbuds from his ears. "Ow!" He frowned at Chibs and slid the laptop back on the table in front of him. "_What_, man?"

"I gotta go with Clay. I don't wanna leave her by herself, that'd be rude. Think you could manage a few hours?" I noticed as Chibs gave Juice a pointed look, silently expressing something more than his words did. I narrowed mine and crossed my arms.

"Hey," I snapped. "I'm not a god damn toddler! Don't act like I'm fucking stupid, I can see you're not telling me something."

"Later," Chibs waved me off as Juice turned to me with a slightly apprehensive expression on his face. He masked it, though I could still see hints of anxiousness on the tight edges of his dark brown eyes. I glared at him and waited for Chibs to leave, disappearing with Clay into the 'church'.

"Explain." I said as I came to take a seat next to him.

"Have we even properly met?" Juice uncomfortably ran a hand over his head and I bit my lip and took a deep breath.

"Briefly. My turn," The answers came out in rapid succession, and Juice's eyes widened as he shifted uncomfortably. I tried not to smirk at the effect my bluntness was having on the man. He seemed to find his resolve and fixed a frown on me. I mulled over my next words. Should I ask what I really wanted? About this so called 'club'?... "What's Clay need Chibs and Bobby so bad for?"

Juice's eyes locked on the table. "Ah," He started. "Well. That, see, he…" He cleared his throat. "Club business. Sorry."

"Uh huh," I nodded, though my tone suggested that made shit sense. "That's what I thought." I sat back in my chair and crossed my arms. "Next question. Are you guys part of a gang?"

He sputtered at me for a second, watching me carefully. In a matter of seconds he had recovered. He let out a howling guffaw, slapping the table for emphasis, and scoffed at me. "A gang!? What! That's – You, you've got some kind of imagination, lady. Wow! A gang!" He shook his head. "Would a gang give back to their community like we do?" I raised my eyebrows in response. "Yeah, didn't think so." He sat back smugly in his seat and sipped at his beer.

"Okay." I said carefully. "Charity, huh?... I just have one last question." His eyes slipped wearily to me and he let his bottle lower from his lips. "Is the Sons of Anarchy registered with AMA?"

He scrunched his face up. "That's not even real!"

I let my jaw drop and couldn't stop the dry, dull smirk from stretching across my face. "Yes, it fucking is! Juice, you just… Do you even know what you just confirmed?" He set his beer down and started to stand. "I can't believe this." At this point I wasn't even talking to him anymore. I pushed away from the table and raised my shaking hands to my hair. "I cannot fucking _believe _this!"

Juice sent a panicked look to the closed door of the 'church'. "Okay, okay, alright!" He shushed, grabbing me by the fabric of my cut-off. I batted at his hand and stood so fast from my chair that it clattered to the ground. "Just, shut up, okay?" He lowered his voice to a soothing murmur and that kicked up the rage in my chest to a boil. I batted at him, enraged. "Calm _down_, Liz!"

"You guys are – you – but, that would mean…" I finally trailed off and went limp against his grasp. The end of that sentence hung thickly between us. If The Sons of Anarchy isn't registered with AMA, it doesn't necessarily _prove _anything; it just suggests that they don't adhere to any certain code that plays by the rules of the law. It means that they can make up their own code to live by, legality of said codes considered or not - that's totally up to the organization. Basically, it means that they _could_ be a gang – as I suspected.

"Just because we aren't registered, doesn't mean we're a gang. We're just a club, Liz." His face was grim as he put it right in front of mine. "Get it?"

I shook my head, not even focusing on him. "I can't believe it."

"How do you even know what the AMA is?" He whispered. I turned my eyes back to him.

"I'm not an idiot." I said quietly. "I thought _you_ said it wasn't real…"

He backed away from me and rubbed his hand over his face. He backed away, looking sick.

The doors of the church opened. I watched, as if in slow motion, as Chibs and Tig emerge. Jackson followed behind them, his eyes seeking me out immediately. He came up short as he took in my facial expression. And then, to put the cherry on top of this pile of shit, Clay emerged from the room. He looked at Jackson and followed his line of sight.

The men and I all stared at each other for a second longer. Juice cleared his throat and backed up slowly.

"Juice..." Chibs said lowly, dangerously. "What in Christ's name did ya do?"

* * *

**_...:D heh. She knowsss. I always intended Juice to be the one who lets the cat outta the bag. He's just too... Juice. For it to have been anyone else. Ya know what I'm sayin'?.. So, What does this mean? For the club, for her and the members she's close to - for her and her father? I'm always glad to hear your theories! Lemme know what you predict comes next!_**

**_Oh, and the AMA is the American Motorcycle Association. Honestly, I only know about them through this article I read once about SOA - and the fact that they make no mention of it even though it's like, a big deal in the MC world if it's a legitimate club and not a gang. So sorry if I royally fucked up or offended anyone, it wasn't my intention! It just seems like something Juice wouldn't realize is so telling._**

**_More to come tomorrow - more Jackson, perhaps?... ;)_**


	6. Chapter 6

**_*Insert troll face here.* _**

**_No, no, no! I'm so sorry! I'm 100% joking and 1,000,000% sorry! *Ducks to dodge the flying tomatoes you throw at my head* FORGIVE ME! This is way late, I know. But, can I just say that this chapter is _well worth _the wait!? Trust me you guys, you're gonna love it! I made it twice as long as it originally was, so technically this should be split up and make two chapters. Instead, I present thee: _ONE MEGA CHAPTER_..._**

* * *

_"What about me and all my friends?_

_Are we all sinners if we sin?"_

_\- Jesus, Jesus by Noah Gundersen_

I stepped back and pressed my shaking hand to my forehead. "I knew it…" I breathed, my line of sight narrowing to what was directly in front of me. I felt like something was lodged in my throat, obstructing my airway, like I couldn't get air fast enough. The pace of the music in the bar was quick enough to battle with my pulse. I gripped the back of a chair and leaned against it, trying to steady my breath.

A hand touched my shoulder. "Don't fucking _touch_ me, Chibs!" I snapped, whirling around to tear into him for lying to me this whole time. I came up short when I saw it was Jackson standing worriedly behind me, and Chibs loomed back with Tig and Clay. Chibs had an unreadable expression on his face and my eyes trailed down to the ground.

"Please," Clay said lowly, dangerously, his eyes trained on Juice. "Don't tell me this is what it looks like…"

A small voice in the back of my mind made a smart remark about the fact that he _is_ observant enough recognize something in front of his face! How nice.

"She," Juice started, looking between me and Clay desperately. "I didn't say _shit_, Clay! She just – she figured it out!"

I opened my mouth to refute that, but nothing came to mind. I shifted uncomfortably when Clay's cold eyes hit my face. "So, what? You heard rumors?" He moved closer to me, scrutinizing my every move. "Ya heard some shit around town, and you thought maybe you'd try to fuck your way in?"

I flinched. My jaw dropped. I saw Chibs stiffen and step forward, but before he could say anything, the words tumbled from my mouth. "Me!? Are you fucking _joking_? I don't want in!" I turned to look at each man standing around, from Chibs's regretful scowl to Jackson's mouth that twisted like he had a bad taste. Tig even seemed to grimace at Clay's accusation. "I don't want any part of – of _whatever_ you've got going here! Not everyone is a power hungry slut –"

Jackson stepped forward and pulled me away just as Clay moved to grab me, his eyes flashing. I jerked against Jackson's grasp, my blood singing with fury. "You don't even know me!" I continued. "You never even –" I forced myself to turn away, the end of that sentence dying on my lips. _You never even tried to_. The bar was silent as I shakily breathed and pushed away from Jackson's grasp. "I won't – tell anyone, if that's what you're worried about. Although, it doesn't seem like a very _well kept _secret." I finished bitterly.

Jackson's fingers gently touched the middle of my shoulder blades, his hand pointing to a nearby hallway I had never been down.

"Hey," Clay boomed. "We aren't finished here yet!"

"I got this," Jackson snapped, turning to face Clay. His chest was puffed slightly, his fists clenched determinedly. Clay visibly calmed himself and looked at Jackson's face, calculating.

After what felt like forever, he wordlessly stepped back. I took a deep breath and forced myself to walk where Jackson indicated. The men behind us were dead silent as we went. I could feel their eyes boring holes in my back like slow bullets, burning their way into me. A shiver ran down my spine as we passed the wall of mug shots. Jackson pressed his hand against my back to steer me down the hallway, and a bright blue motorcycle glittered at us under a spotlight from its position in the wall. Every decoration in this bar had taken on a double meaning, and I looked at the motorcycle like it was on fire as we passed.

He stopped at a door and his hand left my back as he dug through his pocket for a key, making a point to hold it open for me when it was unlocked. To my surprise, we entered a bedroom. The door clicked shut softly behind us and I remained silent as Jackson's shoulder brushed mine on his way to the bed. He seated himself there and focused on my face.

The silence stretched between us for a moment. I sat next to him on the bed and looked down at my hands, playing with my fingers as I sat in contemplation. He quietly watched me, waiting for me to make the first move. I pursed my lips. "So," I took a deep breath. "I guess I know what those _kuttes_ are all about now." He continued watching me. "And a grim reaper. Is that like, the team's mascot?"

A surprised snort came from Jackson. He turned to me with a crooked smirk. "Fear the reaper."

I pressed my lips together. "I'm sorry, Jackson." I whispered. "If I've fucked anything up by knowing, or … I just… it's –" _Close to me_. I don't know why I can never say what I really think, but just like every other time, something stops me from admitting the whole truth. I can't bear to take that leap. "Um, surprising." I finally settle on. "I don't do well with surprises."

"Yeah." He said, though his eyes disagreed. They told me he didn't believe me. "Clay's gonna wanna talk with you… But you can't disrespect him like that, not if you're going to stick around."

I wanted to tell him. But I couldn't, so I instead I cleared my throat. "What about Juice?"

His eyebrow creased. "What _about _Juice?"

"He's not going to like – be in trouble with Clay or anything, right? I kind of squeezed it out of him, so you know… It's not his fault. I don't want him taking the fall for this." I finished, squirming uncomfortably. My heart weighed heavily in my chest. I felt so disappointed, so sad that this is what tore my mom from Clay. She must not have been able to take whatever it is he's mixed up with. Something happened, and I'm so close to knowing what. I'm so close to knowing _him_.

His eyes softened. "Juice will be fine. He screwed up a little, that's all. Happens to all of us." He sat back on the bed and sighed. "Listen, darlin', there's gonna be some shit that goes down tonight." Before I could even open my mouth to ask, he said "Club business. But I think it would be best for you to lay low for now."

I frowned, and shifted on the bed. "How can I lay any lower than I already am?"

A mischievous glint in his eye made my mouth clamp shut. I clasped my hands in my lap and he bit back whatever thought just sprang to mind. "For one, it would be best to avoid huge displays like _that,_" he jerked his chin toward the door to the bar, "in the near future. Also, you should keep Clay at arm's length. He's suspicious of you. I wouldn't do anything to aggravate him, or attract unwanted attention." My face must have spoken my thoughts for me. "I know, it isn't an ideal situation, but it's what we've got to deal with." He paused to study my face. I picked at my nails. "You… you're so calm." I couldn't hold back a dry snort. My head hung down and I focused on my hands. "Doesn't it bother you?"

I pressed my lips together and squeezed my palms. "I… That's what scares me." I breathed. I raised my head and locked eyes with him. "I think I've known all along." His eyebrows knit together and he looked away from me for the first time since we sat down, to mull my words over. "I should've freaked out a long time ago – I should've had you drop me somewhere other than the garage after we finished up at storage yesterday, but, I …"

His expression told me that he couldn't decide if I was fascinating or crazy. "So many people in Charming know, and all of them are afraid of us - of what we stand for… and what we do."

"I lost my family, Jackson." My voice broke and his mouth hardened while his eyes softened. "I think… that's why I'm not freaking out. I already knew, and it doesn't matter to me." A wry smile tore at my mouth. "Does that make me crazy?"

He grinned. "That makes you our kind of crazy," He threw an arm around my shoulder and squeezed me close to him. We laughed and the air around us, which had been heavy, suddenly lifted, and I knew in that moment that I belonged right where I was at.

"Jackson – can I…" He watched me with curious eyes, his arm still around me. "What happened with Wendy?"

His arm slid from my shoulder and he turned his eyes away from me. "Yeah, I meant to talk to you about that. I think I'm gonna need that crib sooner than we expected."

I frowned. "Why? What happened?"

"Wendy is my ex-wife. She's an addict, and she –" A muscle jumped in his jaw as he stared at the wall ahead of him. "She overdosed and went into early labor last night."

I laid my hand on his and scrunched my eyebrow as I thought back. "You said that she still had two months…"

He stiffly nodded. "Ten weeks early. There were… complications. He's got a heart defect and a tear in his stomach, so they have to do surgery… They said he's got a twenty percent chance."

I swallowed roughly, my throat swelling with emotion. "Jackson, that's… how's he doing?"

"Gemma said he's alright for now." He turned away slightly, hiding his face. I frowned thoughtfully, not quite heartened at the news.

"Well what do _you_ say?"

"I…" He cleared his throat and shifted on the bed. "I guess I'll find out soon."

My eyebrows shot up. "What do you mean?" … silence. "Jackson, haven't you seen him?" I looked at the back of his head and he moved to stand. I snatched his hand up and made him look at me. "Jackson! He's your–" I came up short, the words catching in my throat. I didn't wanna step over the line; I still didn't know him well. But since we're being honest, "You _have_ to go see him."

"It's not that easy," He snapped.

"Oh, that's bullshit!" I challenged. "It really is! If his mother overdosed, he's better off without her – and you…" I closed my eyes and chose my words carefully. "I know it's scary. Of _course _it is, Jackson. That's what being a parent means! It's not supposed to be easy; it's supposed to challenge you. Yeah, it'll hurt like hell. It already does. But you know what hurts more?" His eyes flickered near me without actually focusing on me, and he still had his face turned away. "Being alone. Being left alone, no one there to care about what happens… no one there to hold your hand… that's the worst feeling in the world. You can't do that to him. I'm not saying you have to swoop in and be the best dad that's ever walked the earth, just _being there _is enough. Trust me. You're enough." My hand reached up to rest on his shoulder. "You're it, Jackson. You're more than enough. " He closed his eyes and seemed to soak in the truth of my words, his head hanging down. "And… Furthermore, you're not getting that crib until I see you with that little boy." He sent me an unimpressed look. I smirked. "There he is."

We sat there for a moment, just reflecting on our conversation. I, not for the first time, admired his eyes. The expression on his face seemed to only intensify their azurite depths as he studied my face. Slight stubble tickled his chin. He looked exhausted by our topic of conversation, but then, so was I.

I looked away and cleared my throat. "Right. Don't you have miscreant stuff to get to?"

A smile tugged at his lips. "That's right," He said as he stood. "The Club's gotta go vandalize some stuff."

"Probably antagonize the elderly, as well."

"Tag some buildings."

"Meddle in private affairs."

"Rig some chairs with whoopee cushions."

"Shock someone with a hand buzzer when they try to shake your hand."

"Spray people with the flower pinned to our kuttes."

"Toss a banana peel in the path of someone walking down the street."

"Oh, no!" Jackson had a pseudo-grim expression on as he shook his head. "That's our one rule. Banana peels are dangerous."

An amused smirk begged to stretch my lips. "Oh, so there _is _honor among thieves!"

He winked, a dimple appearing on his cheek. "I wouldn't know. We don't steal."

"You only… sabotage?" I continued, my face feeling hot from the surge of attraction I felt for him.

"We only get vengeance."

"Ahhh," I nodded. "Vigilantes. A ragtag team of heroes in the night, off to burn an evil lair to the ground."

Something flickered across his face. "Something like that." I moved to stand and he held a patient palm up to stop me. "Actually, you should probably give it about five minutes before you leave."

I frowned at him before it dawned on me. "Right! Lay low, don't make any sudden movements around Clay. His eyesight's based on movement. If I stay still long enough, he'll lose me like a T-Rex."

He busted out laughing. "I don't think that's exactly what we discussed."

"No?" I teasingly frowned, pretending to try and recall. "Hmmm. Perhaps I _did _embellish a bit, but one can never be too careful…"

He chuckled again and waved me off as he left the room, shutting the door softly behind me.

I watched the door for another second, and as soon as his footsteps disappeared from the hallway, I backed up to sit on the bed.

Crap. Among all the other things we discussed, Jackson just told me to stay away from Clay. And I don't wanna get myself kicked out of the clubhouse – don't get me wrong, but how am I supposed to… get to know him? How am I supposed to break the news to him? Then again, what would I even say? How exactly would that conversation go?

_Hey, Clay! I know that you know that I know your biggest secret from the public even though I just came around, and you don't know if you can trust me yet, and I've already seemed to win the trust of the biggest players in your club, and that looks **really** suspicious, but it's not my fault if they seek me out and like who they find! Maybe you should give me a chance! In fact, can we talk? So, yeah. Listen. I didn't just happen into Charming to find a storage unit. I was looking for you… because you're actually my biological father. Yeah, and I was hoping to get to know you more. No? – Yes? … No?... You gotta give me a clue, here, I'm grasping… okay, then._

Yeah. Something tells me that wouldn't go well, especially since I've just managed to mark myself as suspicious. I should've kept my revelation about the club to myself. But, you know what they say. Hindsight is twenty-twenty.

* * *

The next morning, I opened my eyes and rolled over with a peaceful feeling buzzing through my limbs. I felt like I had slept for a thousand years, like I had melted into the bed I lay in. My eyes hit the familiar wall of the room Jackson had lent me for the night. It was the same place we had our insightful discussion in. After he and the boys got back from – whatever they did, he had found me half awake on one of the couches in the bar and practically carried me in here to deposit me on the bed. Or did he _actually _carry me? I couldn't remember, but I hoped that he hadn't had to literally carry me here.

I picked myself out of the bed and stumbled into the hall. The bar was already buzzing with activity when I emerged.

The whole crew, minus Clay, sat at the bar. They cackled over muffins and good company, and I simply leaned against the door frame and smiled at them, as they hadn't noticed me yet. What I said to Jackson last night rang true in my ears as I watched these men – no, these _brothers _simply enjoy each other's company. I watched Juice and Chibs playfully insult each other and make bets about irrelevant shit, Bobby and Tig reminisce about some party where they accidentally hooked up with the same girl – a woman who turned out to be Tig's distant cousin.

I scrunched my face in disgust and decided to make myself known. "Ahhh, just the woman I was looking for!" Jackson put his arm out to beckon me from his spot behind the bar. I moved to join him, my eyes flickering over to Chibs, who watched me with distant eyes. Something swelled in my chest as I caught his gaze. An errant, paranoid thought streaked across my mind – had I fucked things up with him, is his sense of loyalty to the club preventing him from continuing our friendship?

I timidly smiled and waved at him, and he winked at me as Jackson said, "So listen, I was thinking after we eat we could swing by the storage unit to get that crib for the baby."

"Boy, you kids moved fast," Tig quipped, earning a smack on the back of the head from Jackson.

"I get the feeling that you have no room to talk, Tig." I said slowly, smirking at the man in question.

He spent half a second looking offended as the men howled around him, smacking his arm and beating the counter before he joined in with a belly-laugh. "She's a quick one," He winked at me as he threw a piece of muffin into his mouth, although his winks are desperately more sexual than Jackson's or Chibs's. This brought an amused smile to my face, but I quickly realized it came across as encouraging to this incorrigible man as his eyes lit up.

I wiped the expression from my face and turned to Jackson with a shudder that I tried my best to disguise. Jackson's eyes twinkled with laughter as he watched me, that cocky knowing grin begging to grace his face. My eyes narrowed. "Well, I see you've already forgotten the conditions I made last night." I leaned close to him as he passed me a muffin so I could speak privately. He tilted his head in question. "Hospital first, then crib."

He swallowed. "You're serious about that?" He turned to frown curiously at me, leaving our faces inches apart. I blinked at the proximity, scolding myself as I momentarily lost focus in his eyes.

I blinked again. "You betcha. I'm a woman of her word."

His eyes flickered across my face. He lowered his voice. "I went last night," he admitted.

I raised my eyebrows and sat back in surprise. "You did?"

His Adam's apple bobbed. "He was… so," He broke off and his eyes touched mine. I softened.

"I'm glad you went after all."

"Yeah, well, some chick had a pretty smooth speech that showed me how I needed to be."

I smirked, breathing a laugh. "Smooth speech, huh?"

He shrugged kindly at me. "Seemed to do the trick."

"Well then," I began, leaning away to take a bite of the muffin. "Holy shit," I groaned, my eyes wide as I looked down at the majestic pastry in my hand. "This is fucking amazing!"

Jackson laughed. "Careful, Lizzie!" Chibs hollered from a nearby table. "Shite's addictin'! It's makin' me fat!"

I waved in thanks to Bobby, who Jackson told me supplied the beautiful pieces of divine clouds, and turned back to the conversation at hand. "As I was saying, I would still like to see him." I carefully watched his reaction, which was one of surprise. "If that's not weird, and it's okay with you," I quickly added, and he popped the rest of the muffin in his mouth.

"Let's go, then." He waved me around the counter as he went. I stared at him in shock for a split second before I quickly stuffed the rest of the muffin in my face and scrambled after him.

I nearly stopped in my tracks in confusion for a split second when I saw a truck waiting for us outside.

"Hopin' for a different ride?" Jackson smirked at me, and I stubbornly jutted my chin out.

"No," I muttered, and he laughed as I slid into the leather passenger seat.

"Don't worry, darlin'. I'll still let you straddle me."

I slammed the door shut with a disgruntled pout and he laughed harder. I turned to him with false smoldering eyes. "Don't tempt me," I feigned a sultry voice and winked at him. He watched me with cautious eyes, still slightly shaking with laughter. I slid across the seat and let my hand run across his thigh and his laughter cut out with an abrupt hiccup. I threw my head back and laughed. "Your face! You should see your face!"

A crooked grin tugged at his lip as he turned the key. "Oh, that was a dirty, dirty trick, woman."

I continued snickering all the way to the hospital, Jackson's grumbles echoing me the whole time. By the time we walked through the front doors, an amicable mood had been set between the pair of us.

"I knew you liked it that first time," Jackson smugly beamed at me. I narrowed my eyes.

"You're still on about that?"

He merely winked at me. I let out a quiet hmph and crossed my arms. "Maybe I would've enjoyed it if there had been an experienced man at the wheel."

His eyebrows shot up. "You did _not _just say that to me." He pressed the elevator button.

I shrugged a shoulder. "Maybe someone should stick the training wheels back on your bike. I don't think you're quite ready yet."

"Oh yeah?" He lunged for me and I tried to dodge him. His hand clamped down on my shoulder and he hooked an arm around my waist. His clever fingers pressed strategic spots on my ribs. "Where's your sweet spot, hmm?"

I let out a girly cry and smacked his hands as I scrambled to get away. "I don't have one!" I squeaked. But my body betrayed me when he tickled the spot at the bottom of my ribs, and I jerked sideways into his chest.

He let out a triumphant bark of laughter. "You were saying?"

"Stop!" I giggled wildly, struggling against his strong arms, and reached desperately for an escape. "Stop it, Jackson!"

He mercilessly continued his assault. "What?" He said over my peals of laughter. "I can't hear you! Did you say harder?" His wicked fingers found the spot on the other side of my ribs, so that I was completely at his mercy as I squirmed against his stomach. Every time I would try to step away, he would tickle me backwards into his arms. I was trapped. "Faster?"

"Jackson!" I pleaded through tears of laughter, and saw from the corner of my eye as a nurse and a tired looking man at the front counter gave me a dirty look. "You have to – stop!" I gasped, "People are – getting offended, Jackson – we're …" I could barely get the words out and his chest rumbled against my back when I snorted.

His fingers suddenly stilled, though he still held me close. My heart pounded against my chest like the frantic hooves of a racehorse and I gasped desperately for much-needed air. My stomach burned with the sweet soreness of laughter. "Admit it," His mouth was at my ear as he held me from behind, his voice low and quiet. My eyes widened at his tactics and wild goosebumps raced up my neck where his warm breath blew down it, and suddenly my heart was racing and my stomach burned for a different reason. I abruptly stopped wriggling, the breath stilling in my throat, and I could hear the smile in his voice as his mouth tickled my ear and he whispered, "I wanna hear you say it."

I turned my face to look into his eyes, our noses just centimeters from brushing as I opened my mouth and whispered, "_Never_!"

His fingers jabbed into my sides and I jerked forward with a loud yelp, nearly toppling forward as the elevator doors dinged open. He chortled with laughter and let me go as I stumbled forward. This knocked me off balance, my arms flailed and I almost smacked headfirst into a woman on the elevator.

"Shit!" I cried, ducking back and crashing against the wall. "Sorry, sorry, sorry!" My hands clamped over my mouth in horror when I saw who it was.

Gemma stood there with a sour expression on her face. She had her purse clutched in her hands as she looked between me and her son. I only _just _managed to fight back what I wanted to say – _It was his fault! He started it! _– and I slowly shook my head. "I'm sorry, I'm, uh, really…" My eyes flickered to Jackson, who bit his knuckle to smother his laughter. Great. No help there. "Excited to see the baby," I awkwardly cleared my throat and shifted uncomfortably when her eyebrows shot up.

She turned to Jackson. "You're taking _her _to see Abel?" Her thumb jabbed in accusation at me. I tried not to be offended at her tone.

Amusement still twinkled in his blue eyes. "Yeah, ma. She's letting me have her family's old crib. I figured she should at least see what she's giving it up for."

With some effort, I kept a straight face at this. A very large part of me wanted to ask him whether he had guessed that or was just trying to save face in front of Gemma. Something told me he had somehow managed to deduce the truth as his eyes slid to mine for a nanosecond. Gemma looked between us again. "Really?" She said, turning an impressed and altogether friendlier expression to me. "I don't think we've officially met yet, hon. I'm Gemma. Thank you for the crib; I don't know how we would've found one on such short notice." She jutted a hand out to me.

I noted that her gaze briefly focused on my hand before I shook her hand. "Call me Liz. It's not a problem, it's just collectin' dust in my storage unit at the moment. Not doing anyone any good there, ya know?"

"What, a pretty thing like you, and no kids?" Her eyes skimmed _not _so surreptitiously to Jackson. He just stepped smugly onto the elevator and watched me struggle. I blinked in surprise.

"Well – no, I guess not." I cleared my throat and shifted uncomfortably. "It's never seemed like the right time."

She tilted her head and hummed in approval. "Listen to that, Jax. Someone with her head on straight. But lemme tell you, sweetie, you keep waitin' for the _right time _and you're gonna die alone."

I pressed my lips together soberly. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Jackson, honey, I still want to do that dinner, okay?" And just like that, her focus was off me and on her son. He nodded at her.

"I'll bring the steaks." He smiled sweetly at her. I watched with interest as he interacted with his mother, and they bantered back and forth briefly about whether to serve meat or just not invite Half-Sack - who is apparently a vegetarian.

"What about you?" Gemma suddenly prompted, her head turned to me.

"Huh?" I dumbly asked, and Jackson smirked at me.

"Are you some sorta hippie-dippy-tree-hugger, or will you eat meat?"

"Hell no. I never did get into that whole 'save the animals' shit." I smirked at her. "It's just not natural."

"Damn straight." She grunted, turning back to Jackson. "Bring her 'round, too." He raised his eyebrows in surprise and nodded at her. "I'll see you soon, sweetie." They kissed cheeks and she waved at me as she left.

As soon as the elevator doors closed, I smacked the back of Jackson's head.

"Ow!" He threw his arms out in confusion. "What the fuck?"

"You know why," I jabbed my finger in his face and he opened his mouth to respond, but the doors opened and he clamped his mouth shut to lead the way.

When we approached the window to his room, I slowed in surprise. The tiniest bundle of blue lay in an incubator, his small red face peaceful as he slept.

"I know." Jackson said beside me. His face was soft, and expression I had never seen before fell across it. I wanted to take a picture. He stepped forward and laid his hand on the glass. "The first time I saw him, it's like the breath was stolen away from me." I joined him at the window to peer in the NICU as a nurse wrote on a chart near the incubator. "And I thought, how can something so small be so big?"

An involuntary smile flashed across my mouth. I realized, as I watched him gaze at his son, that this is what a father should look like. "So, Abel, huh?"

He turned to look at me. "Yeah. It felt right, ya know?"

"It's strong, Biblical." I watched the small bundle in the NICU as I spoke. "I'm not particularly religious, but I think if I was, that would be the name I chose, too."

He chewed thoughtfully on his lip. "So," He started, sounding slightly awkward for the first time since I'd met him. "Did you tell my mom the truth? Back in the elevator, I mean. You've been waiting for the right time?"

I looked back to the delicate sleeping form through the glass again. "I don't know what I've been waiting for. It's just never felt… quite right. Before. I don't know how to explain it." I shook my head to myself and thought about the previous times I had considered it. "It just seems like something that's better left to people who …"

I looked down and trailed off. The end of that sentence hung heavily between us, though I couldn't quite find the right words to give him. How could I say that I never felt worthy? How could I say that I'm afraid? How could I explain to him that I don't know what it means to be a parent anymore? My mother and I were best friends, but she definitely had her faults. And she's not even here to teach me how to do it anymore. I don't have a family. I don't have a mother, or a father. I don't have a support system – so how could I be expected to be a support system for a baby?

"Last week, my mother passed. She smoked like a train her whole life, and it... well, it killed her. By the time they caught it…" I trailed off and cleared my throat. "Anyways, I guess I did sort of tell the truth. It's just never felt like … me. But lately, I don't even know _who_ I am anymore."

His hand touched my arm where it rested against the window of the NICU. "You're not so bad," He joked, nudging my gently, and I grinned in response and nudged him back. "I'm sorry about your mother."

I looked down at his hand where it lay on my arm and brushed my fingers against his knuckles where two rings that spelled out _Sons _sat. "She was ready, I think. It was her time. She suffered too long, and by the end I just… I was relieved that I didn't have to watch her fight just to breathe anymore." I turned back to the glass and moved my arm from the window sill, causing his hand to fall back to his side as I held myself. "But you're different from me, Jackson. You're ready for this." I sighed quietly. "You're ready for him. And wherever you might fail, you've got a family there to back you up. Abel is already so lucky." I smiled softly at Jackson. "Like I said, you're enough."

He had his gaze turned back his son, his eyes troubled. "I hope you're right."

I followed his line of sight. "I am."

* * *

The metal door of my storage unit opened much easier this time around. It still squealed slightly, but not nearly as it had before. My eyes flickered around the unit. "There's nothing else in here you want, right?"

Jackson looked at me in surprise. "You'd give me something else?"

"Sure, otherwise I think I'm gonna sell it all. Except for that chair." I added, pointing at the plush chair I perched on during our last visit. "That's mine."

He smirked. "That's the only thing I would've asked for."

I scoffed. "Liar. You're only saying that because I want it."

"I guess we'll never know," He teased, and walked over to the crib.

We got on either end of it and began to lug it toward the ramp that led up to the bed of his truck.

"Holy shit," I grunted, breathing heavily. "You couldn't have brought Half-Sack along to make him help you?"

Jackson chuckled. "I thought you'd be able to handle a little heavy lifting. Was I wrong?"

I glared at him. "Is that a challenge?" He winked. I growled to myself and lifted with renewed gusto. "Smug bastard," I muttered as we waddled over to where he directed.

"Think of it this way," He sighed as we finally settled the crib in a corner of his bed. He brushed past me to retrieve some straps. I helped him stretch them over the crib. "You're getting a free homemade meal out of the deal."

"How about we sweeten the deal with a place to sleep tonight, and we'll call it square?" I stood back to let him adjust the straps. I told myself not to gawk at his muscles as he tightened them, but that proved to be a difficult task under the bright California sun. He was just too beautiful for his own good.

"Are you trying to come onto me, Liz?" Jackson peeked at me from where he worked, a shit eating grin on his face as he squinted with one eye open against the bright sun and I scoffed.

"If I try to come onto you, Jackson, you'll know it."

His eyebrows shot up and he turned to look at my face. "Promise?" He quipped.

I laughed. "Shut up and strap the crib in."

He smirked, flashing his dimples at me, and turned back to his work. "Yes, ma'am."

* * *

Later that night, after we passed some time back at the garage, we pulled up to Jackson's parent's house. We hopped out of the truck, and I tried not to cringe as Clay strode out of the house and hugged Jackson in greeting, clapping his back. "Hey, son. Whatcha got there?" He asked as he peered at me.

"Crib for the baby," I said before Jackson could explain my presence.

Clay jerked a nod of understanding. "Oh? Your crib?"

"Yeah," I said, and Jackson looked between us for a second.

"Wanna help me unload it, Clay?" He threw his arm around my dad's shoulder and they made their way to the back of the truck.

"You made it!" Gemma said from behind me. I turned and smiled at her.

"Oh, I was promised a homemade dinner. Wouldn't miss those for the world."

"Then you've come to the right place." She said, and slid an arm over my shoulder amicably, much like Jackson had just done to Clay. I stomped my surprise at her obvious gesture of unwarranted affection, chalking it up to the nature of a woman who was clearly friendly. I was clueless to the mass number of people that would strongly disagree with that notion. "The boys are already here, except for Bobby. They're inside if you wanna join them. You _could_ help with the cooking, as long as you're not helpless in the kitchen."

"I can hold my own," I started.

"She was raised in a restaurant, ma!" Jackson interrupted from where he and Clay were in the back of the truck. We both wheeled around as Gemma turned to look at her son in surprise from our spot on the porch.

"Is that so?" She said, her eyes briefly meeting Clay's.

"How did you know that?" I called to Jackson.

"Chibs." He shrugged. I thought back to the pancakes I made for him and Bobby and Happy, and nodded in understanding.

"Well then," Gemma opened the door for me and gestured for me to step inside. "We could use another set of hands. Hey, boys!" She waved back at Jackson and Clay. "I'll go open the garage door; I don't want you coming through the living room or the kitchen with that thing while the house is full! We can move it later."

I moved into the living room and waited for Gemma inside. Chibs and some man I didn't recognize sat on a couch, joking and laughing. I waved eagerly to Chibs and started to approach him, but the expression on his face brought me up short. I felt my heart sink to my stomach as he nodded stiffly at me and abruptly returned to his conversation like I wasn't even there.

I saw Gemma walking past me and realized she had been speaking to me. I cleared my throat and scrambled after her. "So tell me, Liz, is it?" I nodded stiffly as we walked through the house. She paused and introduced me to a man she claimed to be Clay's cousin and I nearly stumbled back in shock when a little head full of brown hair blurred past me. "Walk, Raymond!" She hollered, and then explained to me that that was Clay's cousin's son.

I was in shock. Not the medical kind, the normal kind, but still shock nonetheless. I just met three more members of my family. I watched them play and talk with the rest of the people in the house after briefly waving at me, and realized that they had no idea who I was. I didn't know how to feel about that.

"Anyways! Tell me more about this restaurant you grew up in," Gemma continued through the living room to a bustling kitchen. I saw a tall woman with blonde hair and a fit figure chopping carrots and chatting with a smaller, younger brunette. The brunette, I soon found out, was Clay's cousins' wife. The list of my new family grew a little more.

"It was the restaurant my mother worked in." I absentmindedly explained. I felt undeniably overwhelmed, answering her questions by default. I didn't even pause to filter them. "The owner and her were best friends. She liked to preoccupy me with chores. Said it was good for my character," I paused and looked back at Gemma.

"What's your specialty?" She asked, popping a carrot into her mouth. The blonde woman smacked her hand.

"Gem!" She scolded, and winked at me as she said, "Those aren't ready yet."

I smiled when Gemma waved her off and turned away to dig through a drawer. "I worked quite a bit with mixing things, but as I grew older I tended to gravitate toward the grill."

She turned back to me with a white joint pinched in her fingers. I blinked in surprise as she lifted a lighter to the tip and took a long drag. "Ever since this," She ran her finger down a faded pink scar that was nestled in her cleavage, and I immediately realized she had – at some point – received heart surgery, "We use the grill _a lot_. Threw the fryer out. Actually, it didn't have anything to do with a bad diet, but you can't be too careful."

She passed the joint to the young brunette and picked up a plate of raw meat. Her dark hair tumbled over her shoulder as she tugged a back door open and hit the storm door with her hip, jerking her head for me to follow her.

She strutted up to a grill that smoked near the door, setting the plate of meat down. I joined her and she picked up a pair of tongs, holding them handle-side out to me. "Think of it as your initiation. If you can put your money where your mouth is, you'll pass the test."

I blinked at her. _Test_? "Okay," I said slowly, and took the tongs from her. I peered at the seasoning that was already prepped for me. "Hmmm," I hummed to myself. "Actually, since this is for a grade, you don't happen to have any shallots, butter, and boxed red wine, do you?"

Her eyebrows shot up. "Honey, I've _always _got wine. It's from a bottle, though."

I shrugged a shoulder. "That'll do."

Twenty minutes later, she inspected my work. "What's that for?" She asked, pointing down at the sauce as I sliced another cube of butter into the mixture. I continued this until it was glossy and smooth.

"Trust me. You've probably had plenty of steak, but you've never had it like this." I closed the grill and turned to Gemma and – I learned that the blonde's name was Luann – and smirked. "You'll never wanna have it any other way after this."

Luann sent Gemma skeptical look. "Hmph. Well, I guess we'll see, won't we?" Tough crowd.

"So, are you married, Liz?" Gemma asked from her spot on the patio. I connected this question with the subtle way she had eyed my ring finger back at the hospital. She and Luann were gathered at a cute table with one of those huge decorative umbrellas stuck in the middle, cigarettes hanging from their mouths. I couldn't be around the smoke without thinking of my mother, and I ignored the ache in my chest as I answered.

"Nope. Came close once, a life time ago, but that didn't work out." I busied myself with the grill. "Obviously," I added.

"What happened?" Gemma pressed, and I pretended not to notice when Luann kicked her under the table behind me. Gemma widened her eyes and shrugged at her in innocence. Luann gave her a scolding look.

"We wanted very different things in life. He went on to college, took a desk job at some law firm, and married his secretary." I smiled wryly. "I think the idea of such a … _quaint_ life turned me off."

Luann hummed in appreciation. "I think we can both relate to that sentiment." She purred mischievously. I dipped my finger in the sauce to sample it, decided to add more wine and let it simmer some more. "Is that why you're hanging around Jax?"

I sputtered on the small bit of sauce in my mouth, coughing heavily. Gemma and Luann shared an amused glance. "Oh, no." I managed, waving her question off a little too forcefully. "That's just – it's, I wrecked my car. It's in the shop, so I've been waiting on that to get repaired, and he… needed a crib. So –"

"Alright, alright, don't hurt yourself, babe." Gemma smiled at me and Luann smirked behind her hand. "She's just teasing you. We all know Jax has a lot on his plate right now with Abel. He doesn't need any distractions."

I tried to relax my shoulders in relief, but something was still tight in my neck. I cleared my throat. "Right. Exactly."

"I bet your family is missing you," Gemma continued, taking a drag from her cigarette and watching me closely with feigned casualness.

This time, I didn't even try to hide my shoulders stiffening up. "I don't think so," I said, my throat tight.

"Oh?" Gemma surreptitiously leaned closer in intrigue. I could tell that she thought she was being sneaky, but she couldn't be more obvious if she tried. I wasn't stupid. Gemma doesn't trust me – that's probably why she really invited me tonight. She's feeling me out. I wondered if she suspected who my mother was. I wondered if she would ask after her.

"They're all dead." I said flatly, my voice coming out slightly strained.

A deafening silence fell over the patio, save for the sizzling meat and hissing metal of the foil wrapped corn. "…Oh." Gemma finally managed, this _oh _coming out much guiltier and heavier than her previous. "Jesus, I'm sorry, sweetheart. I had no idea."

I smiled bitterly and turned to wave her off with my tongs. "How could you know? Don't worry about it. It is what it is."

Luann took a big swig of her beer. "This conversation just got way too heavy for Sunday dinner."

I pursed my lips and bit back the urge to bark a sarcastic apology. "That's my fault," Gemma shook her head. "I'm just being a nosy old bitty. Jesus, I sounded just like my mother with those questions!" She chuckled and gave Luann a light punch on the shoulder. "Shoulda told me to put a plug in it!"

I forced a laugh with the women, and turned the grill off. "I can handle a little third degree," I winked at Gemma who at least had the decency to smile sheepishly at me. "I grew up with the most prying, know-it-all woman that's walked the earth. She ran the restaurant I told you about."

"They'd be peas in a pod!" Luann smirked, dodging Gemma's fists and joining me by the grill. She smiled and laid a hand on my shoulder in an unexpected gesture of affection. "But you turned out just fine, darlin', so maybe there's somethin' to be said about their methods, huh?"

I smiled back in appreciation and winked at Gemma. "I trust that woman more than anyone else, to this day. So I feel inclined to agree with you, Luann."

Gemma stubbed her cigarette out and rose from her seat. "Alright, the boys are probably clawing at the walls. We better get in there."

They got the plates of corn and helped me carry the meat back into the house, Luann heading the group. She hollered that dinner was ready, though this proved to be unnecessary as we found that the table was set, the men and children already gathered and waiting. Luann sat down next to the brunette at the end of the table.

I came in behind Gemma, and caught the opportunity to witness her admiring the group at the table as they joked and bantered. I took the moment to try and see what she was seeing, and I saw a family. I saw _her_ family, and I felt an unexpected pang of longing strike my heart. My eyes flickered to Clay as he laughed with Jackson and smiled sweetly at Gemma. Gemma went to join Clay at the front of the table as I laid the plate of meat down in the center.

I turned to scope out a spot, and discovered that the only vacant seat was between Chibs and Jackson. Jackson pulled the chair out without standing and patted the seat next to him. I eyed Chibs as I made my way over, while Gemma explained that the steak needed a bit of sauce as she served Clay first.

"Eh?" Clay poked his fork through the sauce on his plate.

"Just try it," Gemma gently scolded, her eyes trailing to me. She winked and turned back to Clay. "You never know. You might just like it."

I swallowed nervously and waited with baited breath as he raised the tip of his fork up to his mouth to sample the sauce. He smacked his lips tentatively and raised his eyebrows. "That's not bad!" He nodded, and asked where she got the recipe.

"Oh, did I forget to tell you?" She said casually as she cut her own piece of steak and served herself. "Liz made the steaks tonight. It's her family's recipe." She drizzled the sauce next to her steak and shared a soft smile with me.

I cleared my throat and ducked my head, shifting under Clay's gaze. He grunted and grudgingly complimented my cooking. Guilt ate at my stomach. These people, they were welcoming me into their lives – into their Sunday dinner… and I can't even be _honest _with them!

My eyes slid over to Chibs, who watched me with a twisted mouth. He locked gaze with me, his eyes tight. I deflated and turned away from him in confusion. _Where _is this newfound distrust coming from?

I sighed heavily and piled my plate with food, choosing to ignore Chibs for now. I felt something brush my knee, and looked down to see Jackson nudging me. I looked up at him and he beamed at me happily. I couldn't bite back a smile and nudged him back with my elbow.

"Liz, you gotta give us this recipe," Clay suddenly declared near the end of the meal, patting his stomach contentedly. I felt something unfamiliar tickle that dead spot in my chest, the spot that was born from not knowing my father, and I tried not to let my face burn under his praise.

"It's a family secret," I cryptically said with a smile playing at the corner of my lips.

"Maybe you shouldn't have let me watch you prepare it then," Gemma piped up dryly. I didn't even try to hold back my laugh.

"Well, I guess the secret's gotta live on, right?"

She blinked in surprise and focused on my face for a second. My words caught up with me and my face ignited like a log soaked in gas.

"I mean – I was just…" I clasped my hands under the table and told myself to get a grip. Jackson put his arm over my chair kindly and tried to calm me with a smile. "Guess it's not a secret anymore."

Gemma's face was unreadable as she took Clay's hand and turned away from me without a word. I felt a pair of eyes burning the back of my head. I turned to see Chibs watching me intently. I frowned at him and he shifted closer to me, so I leaned over to hear him.

"We need tuh talk." He whispered, and my heart kicked up as I thought over what he could possibly want to discuss. "After dinner, outside."

I nodded, my throat tight in confusion and dread. Jackson looked at me with a raised eyebrow and I forced a smile at him.

Then – just as dessert was about to be served, Clay said something and the whole table laughed. As I had been for the last ten minutes, I snuck a glance at Chibs. His eyes flickered between me and Clay. And then it hit me.

The pictures. I left them at his house – the box with _everything _my mother had left to offer me – it was all still in his bedroom. Shit that I hadn't even _seen _yet was written in that journal! It's _all there._ It's all written out for him, waiting to be discovered. A gross sensation of panic ran, ice cold, through my veins. I jerked my eyes back to his face and suddenly it all clicked.

Chibs knows.

* * *

_***Evil laugh* Dum, dum, dummmmm! What's gonna happen next!? Stay tuned for the next installment of COA: The Hunt for Lineage, etc, etc, to find out! Coming soon, because I won't promise a specific date anymore. Lesson Learned. **_

**_OH! And P.S., if you can't tell, I'm digging the Lizzy/Jax pairing more so than Lizzy/Chibs, so far as romance is concerned. Hope that's alright, because I've got some dramatically cute and angsty stuff planned ;) _**

**_Review, I love to hear your ideas/thoughts! Believe it or not, I definitely take your advice and often times I will shape the story to what you guys suggest and point out. Without your input, this story is nothing!_**


	7. Chapter 7

**(A/N): Warning: heavy angst and turmoil ahead. Enter at your own risk.**

_I don't even know if I believe,_

_I don't even know if I believe,_

_I don't even know if I wanna believe_

_Anything you're tryin to say to me_

-Believe by Mumford and Sons

Icy dread coursed through my veins. My legs jerked violently, and I had to physically stop myself from causing a scene. For all my efforts, it didn't go unnoticed. Clay's cunning blue eyes, a mirror of my own, cut across the noise of the room as they bore into me. I squirmed under his gaze, locking my eyes on the knife I clutched tightly in my hand. It was all I could do not to flee the room. It took every ounce of self will I possess to not bolt then and there, and never look back. I made the quick decision to do the only thing that could calm my erratic heart… make a list.

1.) I was terrified. So scared I could hardly breathe, because Chibs knows and I have no idea what he would do with this information. Has he told anyone else? Will he tell Clay? It explains the way he's been acting toward me, but it doesn't explain why he's waited to say something. If he told Clay already, why didn't they confront me? Why am I seated at their family dinner with them, why did Gemma invite me here and ask all those questions about me? What sort of game are they playing? I looked back at Clay, who I knew was watching me even without physically watching me. And I knew the answer without anyone having to tell me. Chibs had spared Clay from this revelation. But why?

2.) Jackson doesn't know, either. If he did, I would certainly have found out by now. Some part of me, through all my clouded doubt and dread, knows one thing for sure. Jackson will never forgive me for keeping this from him. I may not know how everyone else will react, but I know that he will feel betrayed. Numerous opportunities have presented themselves to me. I could've told him long ago, and I haven't, and I won't. Between that fact alone, and the additional knowledge that Clay never told him anything either will be crippling to him. My eyes slid close as guilt cut me, the secrets that I'm keeping from these people pouring into the fresh wound like a potent poison that left it to fester.

3.) The power is in Chibs' hands. I am at his mercy. Assuming he hasn't told anyone, I still have time to make sure it stays that way. I _hate_ this feeling of vulnerability. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have been so reckless, to just leave that box at his house like that? In his _room_? And with the naive thought that he wouldn't go through the box! I had never told him explicitly _not _to go through my things, and these are the consequences. I had never given him a reason to doubt me. But that's changed now. And I have no one else to blame but myself. Whatever happens from here, this is the way I've chosen to handle it thus far. Everything is entirely my fault alone.

I clenched my jaw and cleared my throat, turning to look at Jackson from the corner of my eyes. He was laughing at something Gemma said, and Clay clapped his shoulder. I watched this family interact, feeling like a spectator looking on from the outside, like a guest at a zoo studying an exhibit. I felt foolish for ever believing that I could have that again. As if I could blow into town and into their lives like it was nothing. That I could share in something like the simple joy of family by _lying_ my way into it, by tricking them… but by the same token, am I ready to be honest with them? Can I lay all my cards down? If there was ever a time, this would be it. Chibs already knows. Everyone who matters is present and accounted for.

And yet…

I felt Jackson's hand brush my shoulder as he slid his arm out from behind me to gather his plate and glass and take it to the kitchen. Gemma stood, scolding her son and telling him to sit down. He smiled that achingly sweet smile and waved her away, taking her plate from her hands and telling her _he _would do the dishes. I was surprised that this man, vice president of a notorious motorcycle gang, with his leather kutte hanging from his shoulders, would offer to do something as thoughtful and selfless as _washing the dishes_ for his mother.

I can't. I'm not ready to lose this yet. As selfish as I know this is, I can't bear to go it alone. I'm too weak for that. I'm not strong enough for the truth, it seems. And apparently I'm not finished being selfish, as I turned to see Chibs. The man who has taken me into his home, who has had a hand in fixing my ridiculous car, who found a helpless, erratic, grieving woman on the side of the road, and offered her a home. Led her to her family. It suddenly became too much. The dining room had emptied, as Clay had stepped out to share a cigar with his other family members, and Gemma had gone to share a drink in the backyard with Luann. I swallowed over the lump in my throat as I realized that only Chibs and I were left sitting at the table.

Slowly, I turned to look at him. His face was a mask I couldn't read, but one thing was expressed through the stoicism. Trust is a precious thing. It can feel, at times, as natural as a limb. Like it was there from the moment you woke up that morning, something that you use every day without feeling it, without noticing its presence. And yet, as I looked at Chibs, I could suddenly _feel _it. Like a limb that had been severed, I single handedly ripped the trust he had so willingly given to me out of his chest. And I could _feel _it. I could feel the phantom of it aching between us, I could see it reflected in his eyes as he looked at me like a stranger. And I knew I had hurt him. I had cut this beautiful man before me, and I couldn't stop the tears from gathering in my eyes. I shook my head and clenched my fists in my lap.

"Chibs," I started, but he raised his hand with a clenched jaw. It was enough to steal my voice away, more effective than physically reaching out to clamp a hand around my throat.

"…Elizabeth…" His mouth tightened as his eyes desperately searched my face. I couldn't even bring myself to speak. He must have gathered my full name from the journals. So he truly knew everything, then. "Why?" Why did I lie to him? Why am I here? Why did I not say something from the moment that we met? Why can't I say anything for myself?

I looked down and cleared my throat. "I think it would be best if… and I know that this is asking a lot, but we should wait to speak at your house." He looked at me in disbelief. "If you read it all, you know that I'm not a bad person! You know I never," I glanced back at the door to the kitchen as laughter suddenly grew close to the dining room. It faded and I turned back to Chibs. "I never wanted to hurt anyone, okay? I just… I can answer all of your questions once we're _alone._"

He searched my face, and I could feel that phantom ache again between us. It brought a fresh wave of tears to my eyes, but I fought them back. "I'll be asking _all _the questions," His voice had taken on an edge he had never used with me before, and it felt like a slap to my face. But I knew I deserved every bit of it and nodded stiffly, and even through the hurt that came with knowing that I had lost his trust, I couldn't deny the relief that I felt at knowing he was going to give me a chance to explain myself.

We stood and I led the way into the kitchen. Jackson stood with his back to us, the sink full of sudsy water as the dishes clanked. I took a deep breath and looked back at Chibs, who gestured for me to go first. I steeled myself. "Hey, Jackson," I feigned casualty, and it even sounded forced to my ears. He turned to us with raised eyebrows.

"Hey," He greeted, looking me up and down. Jackson hadn't even known me long, and already I could tell that his blue eyes knew me well. My arms were crossed and I shifted uneasily on the ground. "What's up?" He turned away from the dishes and wrapped his hands in a towel as he dried them.

"Um," I cleared my throat and forced a smile as I jerked my thumb back in Chibs's direction. "I forgot my box from the storage unit at his house. And you _know _there is some embarrassing crap in there…"

He laughed, though I could still see the suspicious glint in his eyes as he looked between Chibs and me. "Yeah, I remember alright. I hope you managed to snag some potent blackmail, brother."

The awkward tension was just kicked up about thirty notches. Chibs let out a laugh, though only I could detect the bitterness in it – and that's because I was looking for it – and he clapped my shoulder. I forced myself not to flinch. "She'll be doin' my laundry for the next twenty years!"

I snorted, falling easily into this façade. So easily, in fact, that it caught more than just myself off guard as I quipped, "Don't count on that, Jock." He looked at me with a tight smile that spoke volumes.

"We'll see." He finally said.

I stepped out to thank Gemma for inviting me, and she made a fuss over my early departure. She insisted that I share a glass with her and Luann, but I politely declined. She hugged me and told me not to be a stranger, which was like pouring bleach into my fresh wound. _Liar, liar, liar_….

And then we were leaving. It was so easy, when you had someone's trust, to lie to them. Jackson and Gemma _wanted _to believe us, so they did. Simple as that. And as we rode through the dark streets to Chibs's house, a sick feeling crawled over my skin. I hated it. I hated the power I held, how easily I could manipulate a man such as Jackson, and how readily he accepted me. Now that someone was aware of the truth, I couldn't ignore what I was doing for what it is anymore. I knew I wouldn't be able to keep it up. I just hoped, against all logic, that I wouldn't lose all of this by the end of the night.

* * *

The clock ticked in the hallway near his living room. I sat in the chair by the door, Chibs was perched on the couch with his hands clasped together and his elbows resting on his knees. His head was ducked as he thought. My box rested on the table in front of us, the pictures and journals scattered across it. It had been like that when we walked in. I swallowed roughly and took a deep breath.

"I don't expect you to understand." I finally said. His shoulders tightened and he looked at me with frank incredulity.

"Damn right," He spat. "I dunnai_ understand_ how you could – lie to all of us!" He looked back down at the journal. "Why would you keep this to yerself?"

I closed my eyes and resisted the urge to snap at him, pinching the bridge of my nose. "It's not that simple! I – my mom never told me anything. All my life, I thought that my father didn't care. I thought – no, I _accepted _that he knew about me, and that he didn't care enough to reach out. That's what I _had _to tell myself." Chibs's face hadn't changed, and I knew I had to search for the right words. I stood and began to pace.

"If I admitted that my mother kept me a secret from my father, it would mean… I _thought _it would mean she was too ashamed of me to claim me. I thought that would mean that she fled him because I wasn't enough." I could see Chibs was about to go into a seizure at the ridiculous beliefs I used to hold. "And then, I grew up. I realized that she didn't keep me from him because she was ashamed of _me_. She was ashamed of _him_, maybe even afraid of him, so she protected me from him.

"When I found that journal and read it, something became achingly clear to me. I realized that what I had always suspected, but could never admit, was true. My father treated her so badly; he was so awful and hurt her so much that she didn't dare to raise her baby girl near him." I sighed and stopped pacing. "She was protecting me from him, from his life, from this town… It's taken me twenty six years to figure out _why. _She wanted to shield me from this life, and when I figured out what he was apart of - which I pretty much caught onto the moment that I arrived on the lot with Half-Sack, by the way – I knew why. She was protecting _me_."

I let my hands fall to my side. "When she died, I felt like my whole life had been taken from me. I didn't know where to turn, and when I looked at her grave… I had nothing. It... _hurt_ too much." My throat grew thick. "My life has been full of maybes. Maybe if I knew my dad, everything would be better. Maybe if I could find him, they would reunite and everything would be better. Maybe... if I had helped my mom quit smoking sooner, maybe she would be alive, and things would be better."

I shook my head. "For the first time I have all the answers. Not _maybe_. Definitely. My mom is dead, my dad is here in Charming, and all I have to do is..." I trailed off and covered my face. "But it's... much harder than I imagined. He didn't recognize me, like I had imagined he would. Or maybe he did. I don't believe that he knows me, but he might. The truth is, just because I've found him, doesn't mean I know what will happen, but for now... at least for now, I'm in control. I can control how this goes. Well... _before_, I could. I mean..." I turned to Chibs, my throat tight. "Now you know."

Neither of us spoke, so I added to my speech. "What will you do?" I asked him.

Chibs reached and picked up a journal, flipping to a page.

"_I cannot stay here. We argued again, about the club. It's always about the club._" He paused from his reading to look at my face, and I sat frozen, waiting with baited breath for him to continue. "_I brought _her_ into it… his little whore that he's fooling around with. It was like I flipped a switch. He turned into someone I didn't recognize, and I have the bruise to remind me of who he's become. As I write this, I am faced with the choice. Do I continue to live in his shadow, to survive with what scraps he decides to throw me today? Am I going to stay here and hope against hope that the man I fell in love with will walk through the door tonight?_

"_No. Not anymore. My baby has given me the strength I need to push me. I'm leaving. Today, and I'm never coming back. He's toxic, and I cannot raise my child with him around to poison them. This life is will not be theirs. Not as long as I have a say._"

He closed the book and turned to me. "Tha's the final entry. She never wanted this life for ye, Liz." The book landed with a resounding smack and sent some of the pictures to the floor when he tossed it on the table. "But I respect that you have a choice now. It's your life, not mine. I know the truth, but not because you chose to tell me. Because you were thoughtless, and you left it right here for me to find. I dunnai if that means yer stupid, or if it actually means you _wanted_ someone to find the box… but I do know I can't lie to them. You cant ask that of me, and I won't be a part of it."

I sank down into his couch, my worst fears coming true. "You're being selfish. And immature. I like ye, Liz. Actually, I liked you a _lot_." My eyes snapped up to meet his, and I realized with a cold sickness just how _much _he had liked me. His tortured, sad eyes were enough to tell me. "But I can't trust you. So this is what's going to happen." He moved to join me on the couch, and I resisted the urge to curl into myself with shame and hate. I make myself sick. "I won't tell them."

My head snapped up so fast, my neck cracked. I gaped at him with wide eyes. "But if any of them become suspicious and ask me… I won't lie, either. I am a part of what drove your mother away. I'm a member of that club she hated enough to change her entire life to hide from, and she loved ya so much that she lied to _you _too. I think that _she _thought lying to you was protecting you, but I'm here to tell _you _that lying to someone is never the right choice. It's not protecting them. Because although it kept you out of the more dangerous aspects of our life in the club, it also kept you from a family. The family, mind you, that you've run to in her death. And… I think that yer only following what you were taught to do. Run, and lie."

The truth of his words smacked me full force. I hung my head in embarrassment. "I don't believe Clay has any idea who you are." Chibs reached down to cover my hands with his own where they were clasped on my lap. "The only way for you to truly find what you're looking for – a family – is for you to be honest with them. Because you can't have love without trust, and you can't have a family without love."

I looked up at his face and searched his sad face desperately. "I don't know if I can do that, Chibs. I … what if he rejects me?"

His put his hand under my chin and forced me to look him in the eye. "He won't. He can't, because family means everything to Clay."

I looked deep into his eyes, searching for anything that he might not be saying. I couldn't find anything, and suddenly it hit me. As cheesy as it sounds, this man isn't just talking the talk. He's walking the walk, because he's being totally honest with me. He truly believes that for Clay, family trumps everything. But as I look away and see the scattered journals and pictures on his table, I speak my mind – one hundred percent honest for the first time since I stepped into Charming, and said, "No, Chibs. That's where you're wrong. The _club _is everything to Clay."

* * *

**(A/N): My favorite part about Liz is that she offers a fresh point of view on Clay. There are members of SOA who will swear up and down that Clay is all about _family_, all about _protecting_ _family_, blah, blah, blah. And that's what he likes to stroll around preaching. But at the end of the day, he's never been afraid to tear down one of his _family _members in order to put his club ahead of the game, has he? And Liz knows that, because she's lived it. That's why she's so afraid, because look what he did to her mother. And he was supposedly in love with her! So anyways, enough preachy preachy. There's a little insight to Liz's motivations, in case you were at all confused. **

**What did you think!? How will it all go down? I purposely made it short, because I feel like this is a high impact chapter and to drag it out would be counterproductive. More to come shortly! Review, your thoughts are my muse! :***


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